


The Price for Fire

by Commakaze



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Greek Mythology, Anachronisms, Angst, Curses, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Grief/Mourning, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Character Death, Wing Grooming, Wingfic, body image issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-30
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2018-12-08 17:01:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 58,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11650905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Commakaze/pseuds/Commakaze
Summary: In an ambiguously pre-Industrial society, Jade English sends her grandson out into the world to experience the joys of adventuring for himself. This would probably be easier if Jake had paid more attention to her adventuring lessons. Then again, nothing’s really been easy since the Curse hit all those years ago.Or: Dirk is a cursed bird boy with intimacy issues, Jake finds (and dates) him, Roxy and Jane are beautiful disasters in their own rights, and everything is varying levels of awful until it isn’t. Featuring as much fluff as I can cram in between the plot-driven angst and a lot of wing appreciation and preening.Based on an art piece by Cityinthesea.





	1. Works and Days

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cityinthesea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cityinthesea/gifts).



> #ShowsUpToHomestuck5YearsLateWithStarbucks
> 
> ‘Sup?
> 
> Cityinthesea posted this gorgeous art of [cursed bird boy Dirk](http://cityinthesea.tumblr.com/post/163024739629/and-he-called-this-woman-pandora-because-all-they), and they say a picture’s worth a thousand words...but apparently if you add a thought-provoking quote to the picture, I’ll immediately up my bid to ~60k.
> 
> So, buckle up, friends, because  
> 
> 
> (Also, the past character deaths are all minor characters and off-screen.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Chapter title refers to Hesiod’s Works and Days, and it is the source of the quote that Cityinthesea used on the original post. It felt appropriate.)

Your name is Jake English, and you have never in your life been so grateful to see a roadsign. ‘Skaia, 10 miles east,’ it reads, and you smile through cracked lips. You ran out of water yesterday. You’d been aiming for the Furthest Ring and thought you would take a shortcut through the woods, but you must have gotten turned around somewhere. Perhaps you should have spent a bit more time on that offering to Hermes before taking your leave.... Grandma Jade would be ashamed, if she could see you now. You push the thought from your mind and force yourself to keep trekking on, well aware that you’re racing the afternoon sun if you want to find a real bed to sleep in tonight.

Skaia, when you reach it, is...well, you suppose you were expecting a little more out of it? There are a handful of buildings clustered together on the road you’re walking, with a few houses scattered on the flatlands farther out. The forest encroaches on the edge of the village to the south, rapidly rising into a small mountain range. You don’t see anyone on the streets--perhaps not entirely unusual, as it’s nearly dusk--but as you approach you hear boisterous voices from one of the larger buildings. It doesn’t have a sign; praying for a tavern or an inn, you cautiously open the door and peek in.

What greets you is a pleasantly lit dining hall occupied by a few tables’ worth of patrons and a truly mouth-watering aroma. It’s not even a conscious decision: by the time you realize you’re moving, you’re already facing a short young woman at the bar. She raises an eyebrow at your approach and offers you a cheerful smile. “Well hello, there, stranger! We don’t get many travelers out this way.”

“Could I perhaps,” you begin, and then you have to swallow a few times to moisten your tongue. “That is to say, salutations! I don’t suppose I could perchance impose upon your establishment for a meal and a pitcher of water? I’ve been traveling for ages, you see; haven’t had a whit to eat or drink, and blast if I’m not about to fall over parched and famished.”

The woman’s mouth slips open during your greeting, and she blinks a few times before answering. “O-oh! Of course! Please, have a seat, and I’ll grab a bowl of soup for you, hoo hoo!” She bustles away. You settle in at the bar and glance around while she busies herself with ladling out a serving of soup. A few patrons have noticed you and are eyeing you over quizzically, but most people are engaged in listening to an extremely tipsy woman tell a very enthusiastic story by the far corner. She giggles out some kind of punchline, and her audience roars with laughter. Your attention snaps back to the bartender as she places a steaming bowl of aromatic soup and a large cup of water in front of you.

“Oh, fudgeknickers, that smells incredible,” you blurt out. “Thank you kindly!” You mutter a quick prayer of thanks to Hestia before you shovel a spoonful into your mouth, and everything narrows down to the delicious food before you. If the savory soup weren’t enough on its own, she gives you a wedge of bread to soak it up, and you feel tears form in your eyes as the flavors hit your tongue. You’re hungry enough that even stale grain would have tasted good, but cripes! This fare is something else.

The bartender keeps up a steady ramble while you slurp and chew your way through your meal, requiring only the occasional gesture or facial expression from you. She introduces herself as Jane Crocker, and you pause long enough to give her your name in return. She inherited the tavern from her dad when he passed away, but it’s been in her family for generations, even though her Poppop tried to turn it into an entertainment hall when he came into possession of it. Apparently that explains the raised stage-like area in the corner, where the tipsy storyteller is holding court with her audience.

At last, you finish mopping up the last of your soup, and you ignore the slightly over-full feeling in your belly to straighten and grin at Jane. “That was positively scrumptious,” you tell her. “I haven’t eaten that well in years!”

She giggles, blushing. “Shucks, thank you! I had to keep up the family reputation, hoo hoo.”

“So how much do I owe you?” you ask, reaching for your coin purse.

You’re startled when Jane shakes her head energetically. “On the house!” she tells you. “A treat for a treat.”

“How...do you mean?”

“Never mind. But don’t even think of trying to pay me, buster! When I say a meal is on the house, it’s on the house.” She leans over the bar and braces her chin on her fist. “So where are you from, Jake?”

You’re still confused, but you obediently pull your hand away from your purse and lean back to the bar. “Prospit, in fact! I was out adventuring, but I think my goshdamned map wasn’t drawn to scale, or something. And then a rat got to it and tore it to shreds, so it wasn’t any friggin good at all!”

“Oh, well where were you headed? Maybe I can get you turned in the right direction.” She pulls a dust-covered map from under the counter.

“I was hoping to make it to the Furthest Ring, but I’m certain I should have made it by now, so I must have gotten spun around.”

She hesitates and bites her lip. “Hm. Are you sure your map was accurate? That’s almost the complete opposite direction from Prospit.” She spreads the map out and points out your location, where you came from, and your intended destination. The three points almost make a straight line.

“Well, crap,” you say, staring at the distances in dismay. “I guess I’ve got a mite bit more traveling ahead of me.”

Jane giggles. “I suppose so! Hoo hoo.”

“Well, it’s definitely too late to start out tonight! You wouldn’t happen to know where a gent like myself could hang his hat for the night, would you?”

She takes a moment to think about it, but then she nods and says, “We don’t have enough travelers passing by to maintain an inn, but you might talk to Roxy. I think she’s got a spare room, and of everyone I think she’d be the most open to having company.”

“Right, then! She sounds like a stand up lady. How do I get in touch with her?”

In reply, Jane points to the tipsy storyteller in the corner. At this point, you think the storyteller’s gone a fair bit past tipsy and may be better described as just drunk. Dionysus must be appreciating the sight from up on Olympus.

“Ah. Er, you’re sure about this?” you ask Jane.

“Oh, definitely! Roxy’s a peach; she’ll love you.” She shoos you off with her hands. “Go on!”

Still uncertain, you make your way over to the small crowd in the corner. A few people give you curious looks again, but no one comments as you slowly edge closer to the front. This close, you can hear that she has a bright voice, and also that she’s slurring her words _hard._ She’s got a mostly empty bottle of liquor in one hand, and as you watch, she drains it and holds it out for one of her audience to replace with a fresh one. Then she’s off again, zipping through both alcohol and tall tale.

You wait until she finishes her current story to interject, clearing your throat loudly. Immediately, everyone turns to you, and you have to fight not to wilt under their combined stares. “E-Excuse me, Miss Roxy, but I was just conversing with Jane over there, and she mentioned that there was a potentiality that you might have a spare room I could use for this evening’s repose? After a few weeks on the road, I’m wholeheartedly enthused for the comforts of proper shelter, you might say.”

She looks you over and whistles. “Well, heeeey there,” she says, grinning up at you from her lazy sprawl. “That’s quite the verncurl- venacle- venereal- fuck it, I like the way you talk. But nah, the only spare room I have for a guy like you is on the other side of my bed.” She gives you an exaggerated wink, and you feel your ears burn as the people around you laugh. Goodness, she really _is_ drunk!

Well, that just means you’ll have to be a perfect gentleman, then! “I couldn’t put your reputation at risk like that,” you assure her earnestly. “Especially with you so sloshed, no, I couldn’t live with myself if tomorrow morning you felt like I took advantage of your hospitality and left you in disgrace! If you don’t have a room you could spare to a kindly rascal like myself, I’m sure that I can find somewhere else to kip for the night.”

Roxy’s bottom lip juts forward in a pout, but after a moment she sighs and waves a hand through the air. “Figures I can’t land a fish even when it’s practically dropped in my lap. Thanks for nothin’, Janey. Yeah, I can put you up in the other room, but it’s gonna cost ya. Whatcha got?”

You know you don’t have enough coin on you for a room, but most people you’ve come across over the years are happy to work with the barter system, and plenty of innkeepers have given you a discount if you help them with some of their heavier chores. You tell her how much coin you could spare for a night’s lodging and add, “And I could help around the house, maybe do some odd jobs? I’m good with my hands.”

“Oh you _are_ , huh?” she asks, eyebrows waggling, and this time you feel the flush spread over your entire face as you realize how she may have interpreted that. The crowd around you laughs again, and you glance over your shoulder, wondering if you should just give this up as a lost cause and set up camp outside town. You weren’t kidding about being desperate to sleep somewhere indoors after the long weeks in the wilderness, but this embarrassment can’t be worth it. Before you can make up your mind to leave, Roxy leans forward, face settling into a serious expression. “What do you know about machine repair?”

Caught off-guard by the unexpected query, you blink. “Erm, I’m not trained or anything, but I’ve helped out with a few smiths and mechanics over the years. Why, is something broken?” You probably won’t have the technical know-how if it’s anything more complicated than oiling joints or realigning moving parts, but maybe that’s all that’s needed?

Roxy snorts. “When _isn’t_ something borked around here, is the question. Listen, as long as you can organ-size- ugh. As long as you can _sort_ parts and follow directions when I tell you which tools to hand me, you can help me out around town tomorrow, and in exchange I’ll let you stay at my place tonight. We got a deal?” She takes a swig from her bottle and holds out her other hand for you to shake.

That seems more than fair to you, and you can admit that you’re relieved that you won’t have to diagnose the problems yourself. You grin brightly at her and shake on it.

* * *

With Jane’s help, you’re able to coax Roxy out of the tavern to get you set up in her spare room. Roxy lives in one of the larger houses that you’ve seen in Skaia, and you’re surprised to learn that she lives alone. It’s a lot of space for one person. When you bring it up, though, Roxy grimaces and changes the subject.

The house itself is cluttered with what look to be half-finished projects of the mechanical and artistic persuasions. You see some kind of long, cylindrical doodad shoved in a corner, and all you can recognize in it are a few levers and some joints connected to the central pipe. You have no idea what its purpose might be when finished. A long work desk in the living room is covered in both mechanical parts and sheaves of parchment, which appear to have scrawling lines of text written across them. They butt up against and almost overrun a small shrine to Hephaestus.

“Sorry about the mess,” Roxy tells you, drawing your attention back to her. “Don’t have many guests out here. Anyway, this is the living room, my bedroom’s through that door, and the back entrance to the garden is right by the kitchen. You’ll be staying in the room down the hall.” She starts walking, and you mutely follow, feeling your exhaustion really start to drag at you.

The room Roxy leads you to is fairly plain. There’s a bed in one corner, a desk in the opposite corner, a bookcase to your left as you walk into the room, and a few pieces of knitted artwork hanging across the walls. You blink in surprise at the predominant color of the knitting. Purple is a very difficult color of fabric and yarn to come by, these days.

Roxy gives you a minute to look around the room, then motions for you to follow her out again and down the hall. “‘Kay,” she yawns, “there’s no way you’re sleeping in the bed like that, Mr. Rugged Manly Man, so I’ll show you the bath and you can wash up before you crash for the night. Towels are in the cupboard, soap is already by the bath, and if you don’t have cleaner clothes to sleep in just sleep naked or somethin’, I don’t care. You can wash your clothes tomorrow if you need to. Anything else you need?”

You assure her that her accoutrements will be more than sufficient to serve your needs, and she bids you good night through a burst of giggles and leaves you to your own devices. The bath, to your great surprise, fills quickly with warm water when you start the pump, and you sink into it with a relieved sigh. This bath alone is worth whatever labor Roxy might demand of you tomorrow, you decide, feeling the strain of long-distance foot travel melting away. It takes you some effort to rouse yourself enough to lather yourself with the soap, but once you do, you regret nothing. Being clean has become a luxury, and it feels _fantastic._

Between the warm water, the late hour, and the food and drink from earlier, your eyes are already drifting shut when you pull yourself out of the bath some time later. You set it to drain and, yawning, gather your belongings to return to your room for the night. The house is silent as you pass through, and you fall asleep the moment you flop onto the bed.

* * *

The next morning is...memorable.

You wake up an hour or two after sunrise, and you take a few minutes longer to revel in the novelty of having a comfortable bed and a solid roof over your head again. It’s still quiet in the house, and Roxy lives far enough from the main road that you don’t hear any of the hustle or bustle that must be happening farther away. You stretch out in the bed one last time, and then you push yourself up and out to go find your host. After all, it wouldn’t do for you to skimp out on your side of the deal!

You dress and leave the room with a wide smile that fades when you realize that Roxy isn’t in the kitchen or living room. You peek out the door to the patio, but she’s not out there, either. The small garden in the back is similarly devoid of Roxies. The sun is rising in the sky; surely she didn’t leave to work without you? You stand in the middle of the living room, scratching your head, and stare speculatively at the closed door that leads to Roxy’s room. With some hesitation, you approach and press your ear to the frame.

Roxy is very clearly and audibly snoring in her room, despite the late hour. Your eyebrows lift in befuddlement before straightening out in realization. After the amount of alcohol she drank last night...oh boy, she’s probably _very_ hungover. You do not envy her the headache she’s going to wake up with. Whenever she wakes up.

You head back to the kitchen and shift your weight, unsure what to do now. You’re supposed to help Roxy with some kind of repairs today, but if she’s not up, should you head back to the tavern and speak to Jane, instead? But if you leave and Roxy wakes up, she might think that you’ve run out on her without fulfilling your end of the bargain…. Perhaps you should rummage through her kitchen and start breakfast?

You’re still standing there in indecision a few minutes later when you hear a thump and a muffled groan from Roxy’s room. Well, that solves that problem, at least! She makes some rustling noises as she presumably kicks out of bed and changes into her clothes. You perk up and smile, waiting for her to come out and start the day.

And you wait. You still hear intermittent rustling from her room, but Roxy doesn’t appear. Eventually, you lose patience and step up to her door, knocking and clearing your throat. “Er, Roxy?”

“ _noooooooooooo.”_ It’s just a long groan, hardly a word.

“Roxy?” you try again. “I don’t mean to be a bother, but are you getting up? It’s just that I was supposed to help you with repairs today, and I was thinking that maybe we should get our jig on.” This is getting awkward.

“ _don’ wanna.”_ There’s another short burst of rustling, and then silence.

Well...okay. “I’ll just wait for you out here, then!”

This time, her mumbling is indistinct, and you shrug, relocating to Roxy’s couch. At least you can sort through your pack and reorganize while you wait for her to come out.

It takes at least another thirty minutes, but Roxy does eventually open her door and stagger into the living room, squinting. Her hair is flying everywhere, and she’s still wearing the clothes from yesterday, which are a rumpled mess. She grumbles something in your direction and shuffles to the kitchen, using an arm to brace herself against the wall as she rummages through one of the cabinets. You watch, more than a little horrified, as she pulls out one of about fifteen bottles of booze and starts chugging. After a few seconds, she slams the bottle down on the counter and hunches over, gasping. She catches her breath and straightens, running a hand through her frizzy hair, before turning to face you. You’re gaping at her; you can’t help it.

“Good morning!” she chirps at you. Her eyes are bloodshot, but she’s grinning widely. “Sorry about that; hair of the dog that bit me, ya know? Anyway, I hope you slept well last night. Gimme a minute to change, and we’ll go to Jane’s for some grub before we head out to work.” She winks and disappears back into her room, and you just watch her go, still kind of speechless.

* * *

 By the time the two of you walk into Jane’s tavern, you’ve settled into a comfortable chatter with Roxy, and you’ve decided not to say anything about the drinking. You barely know her, anyway; maybe this is a rare bender? And even if it’s not, it’s not like it’s your place to step in. Surely she’s got friends who would say something if her drinking were a problem.

Like Jane! Jane is lovely; she greets the two of you warmly as you enter and sets you both up with a platter of breakfast foods. It turns out that she and Roxy have an arrangement: In exchange for keeping Jane’s kitchen running in top shape, Roxy eats free. Today, at least, the offer seems to extend to you, too, as Jane once again waves off your attempt to pay her. You dig in, and Roxy gives you the plan for the day in between bites. You’ll be starting with the tavern, tuning up an oven in Jane’s kitchen, and then Roxy has a full roster of broken machines and faulty plumbing through the rest of the town. You both murmur a quick prayer to Hephaestus before getting to work.

Even if you’re not familiar with the kind of oven Jane is using, it seems to be routine work for Roxy, who chats with you in between requests for you to hand her a tool or help her brace something. She knows a lot about the town, which you suppose isn’t that surprising when you consider how well-liked she seemed to be last night.

“We sure aren’t the biggest town,” she tells you, crouched to reach inside to the oven’s internal apparatus, “but we get along alright for the most part. You might not know it to look at her, but Jane’s basically the centerpiece here. Her dad used to be, like, _the_ go-to guy in town, and Jane stepped right into those shoes when he passed. All like, ‘Oh, these shoes are too big for my feet, you say? Nope! Gonna stuff some extra socks in those suckers and rock ‘em like a boss, just watch.’ Fuck, that girl is going places in life. Everyone knows that her tavern is the place to go for a good meal and good company. We don’t even hold town meetings in the square, anymore; Jane hosts them here. Did you know she’s basically the sheriff, too? Not that we have a lot of need for it around here, but still. Hells of impressive.” Roxy grins.

“It certainly sounds it!” you agree. “Gosh, and here I thought I was the trumpet’s blast for finally going on a solo adventure. That particular curriculum vitae rather puts my bally minor achievements to shame.”

Roxy laughs and reaches up to playfully slap the outside of your thigh with the back of her hand. “Don’t worry; you can totes hang with me down here in the Happily Mediocre Club, and we’ll just cheer Jane on while she kicks ass and takes names.”

“A fine proposition,” you tell her, “and I would be most pleased to accept!” The conversation reaches a natural lull while you finish up with Jane’s oven, and you fall into the rhythm of work. It’s not until the two of you are almost done in the next house, fixing a piece of piping that had slipped out of alignment, that you ask, “Out of curiosity, is this what you mostly do around here? Go about fixing things?”

“That and building things!” she agrees cheerfully, shoving a brace around the connecting edges of the piping while you hold the two parts steady. She raps it with a knuckle and nods decisively when the brace holds, and you move on to the next house on Roxy’s list. It’s not even noon, yet; you’re making great time. “I’m kind of a ‘see a need, fill a need’ kinda girl, and it keeps me busy. Like, we used to have to lug around buckets of hot water if we wanted a bath that wasn’t freezing cold, and Ms. Paint almost threw her back out a few years back doing it for her patients, so I figured out a way to pipe the hot water directly from the fire to the tubs. Then everyone wanted one, so I built a bunch more and got them set up. I’m sure it’s nothing as fancy as what the big cities have, but it gets the job done.”

She shrugs dismissively, and you’re honestly a little speechless. Grandma Jade has taken you to a couple of big cities where they’ve established sophisticated plumbing and water heating systems, but you’ve never come across a town of this size that had managed to replicate it, let alone build it from scratch like this! “Zounds, Roxy, that’s incredible! And you figured out how to do it all on your own?”

“Well, sure,” she says, “but I think anyone could have, really. It’s just that most of the other people in town are busy all day with the really important things, like working the farms or hunting or making clothes, so I just happened to be the one with the spare time to work it out.”

You’re not really sure how to respond to that, and you fall into silence again while Roxy takes a look at the next piece of broken machinery. She directs you to organize the parts she’ll need while she starts pulling it apart, and after several minutes you ask, “Is it very difficult, living so far out of the way like this?”

“There are ups and downs,” she replies, distracted. “It helps that we’re such a small town, actually; everyone knows each other, and we mostly run on a barter system to make sure that everything gets done that needs done. Some winters it feels like we barely just scrape by, but we’ve always made it through. From what I’ve heard, a lot of places weren’t even that lucky, after the Curse.”

You hum in agreement. You’ve passed through the ruins of more than one small village that had been wiped out by the illnesses and famines that sprang up a decade ago.

“It’s not so bad, though,” Roxy continues. “We have everything we really need here. There’s a river that runs out of the mountains about half a mile east of here, so we’re set for water. Almost everyone has a small personal garden that they use to grow food, and a few of the folks living a little further out have actual farms, so we have enough produce. Meat, oil, and leather can be a little harder to get, but even with not being able to go too deep into the forest, the Midnight Crew is great at trapping and hunting game for the rest of the town. Honestly, it might not be luxurious, but the only thing that we _really_ worry about is sickness. Ms. Paint has great bedside manner and all, but sometimes there’s just not much she can do, you know?”

You nod, but your attention is stuck on one sentence in particular. “Why can’t your hunters go very far into the forest?” you ask. “It seems like that’s where they’d find the bigger game.”

Roxy pauses and turns to you, lifting her hands and wiggling her fingers dramatically. “Because there’s a _demon,_ ” she says, emphasizing the word for maximum spookiness. She grins, and you laugh. She turns back to her work, continuing, “But, no, seriously, things just go wrong out there. Supposedly the actual Curse was released just on the other side of the mountains, over in Derse, so maybe some of it got trapped in the mountains as it spread? I dunno, but the first few months the Midnight Crew tried to go on hunting expeditions in the woods after the Curse, they came back empty-handed, and a lot of their equipment was just _busted._ Like, I can fix a lot of things, but their nets and snares would be torn to shreds, or their weapons would be shattered or crushed, and there wasn’t a whole lot I could do. I think they started seeing these crazy claw marks all over the place, too, and eventually they just stopped going more than a mile or so into the woods. Haven’t had any problems with whatever it was, since then.”

“Huh.” Sounds like an adventure! Maybe you’ll take a look this afternoon or tomorrow morning, if you have time. Roxy draws your attention back to the job at hand, though, and you pass her the tool she asks you for. You pass the rest of the time in this manner, sometimes chatting and occasionally working in near-silence while Roxy focuses and uses you as an extra pair of hands, and it’s surprisingly nice. You haven’t done work like this in a long time, hardly ever since Grandma Jade found you; and while you don’t miss it, exactly, it’s sort of refreshing to do it again.

* * *

Between the two of you, you manage to get through Roxy’s workload for the day much more quickly than you expected, even with a break for lunch in Jane’s tavern. Roxy releases you in the early afternoon with an offer to extend the barter of lodgings for work if you decide to stick around, and you settle in at the tavern again to look over Jane’s map and plan your next move. Jane brings by a drink for you (and she _still_ doesn’t let you pay; while you’re grateful for the kindness, this is starting to feel a little like taking advantage). She leans over the bar to ask if you’re planning to leave town so soon.

“I should be getting on my way to the Furthest Ring,” you tell her, “but Roxy mentioned a story about a demon in the forest, and that seemed like a ripsnorter of an adventure! I think I’d quite like to take a crack at it before I go, if I have time.” And, given that your grandma’s instructions to you were just to go out and find an adventure, you suppose it doesn’t really matter if you stay here a while longer to investigate the adventure that seems to have found you...

Jane snorts. “You don’t believe that silly old story, do you? I’m sure that the Brute just made it up to scare Droll, and Droll was gullible enough to believe him and spread the story around. Which is not to say that I don’t think the forest is dangerous, mind you! The Crew’s equipment really did come back completely mauled a few times before they started hunting only in the outskirts. There are probably some pretty big predators out there, once you get far enough from Skaia.” She worries at her lip. “I really don’t think you should go out there looking for trouble, Jake, especially not alone. Much as I’d hate to see you leave so soon, maybe it’s for the best that you carry on to the Furthest Ring, if this is your alternative.”

Is she suggesting that you’re not up to the task? Well, if that doesn’t gall your bladder! “Well, I’d hate to just drop in and dash,” you tell her. “Maybe I should stick around for a while and see if there’s anything I can do to help out around here. It’s not like I _have_ to get to the Furthest Ring on any sort of schedule. I could certain afford to spend some more time here, getting to know the locals and taking a look at the demon supposedly haunting your town. In fact,” you say, decisively pushing the map back to Jane, “I think I’m rather set on the idea!”

She lets out a slow sigh through pursed lips. “Well, shoot, I guess I’m not convincing you to just drop it. If you do go into the woods, though, watch out for yourself, okay? It could be dangerous out there.”

You grin widely at her. “You don’t have to worry about me, Miss Crocker! Why, danger is practically my middle name.” You shoot her two finger guns and a wink for good measure, and even if she still looks worried, it’s enough to makes her laugh.

* * *

 It’s still barely mid-afternoon when you finish talking to Jane, so you decide to venture out that same day. When you first enter the forest, you see the hunting trails that the Midnight Crew must frequent when they venture out to trap game, but as you proceed the trails become more and more sparse until they disappear entirely. Then it’s just you, making your way through the trees and undergrowth, occasionally following trails worn into the brush by the local fauna.

The forest is tranquil and resplendent in the late summer. As you walk, you occasionally hear the skittering of a small animal running through the underbrush or the call of a wild bird, but you don’t see much more than the bugs that thankfully leave you mostly unaccosted. You travel this way for some time, covering a few miles of sloping wooded terrain before you come across anything that so much as hints at a so-called demon.

First, you hear a shuffling rustle off to your right, noticeably louder than the ambient animal movements you’ve heard so far. Your first thought is that perhaps you’ve come across a deer. Your second, when you hear a sharp animal scream that cuts off, is that you’ve either interrupted an animal hunting or stumbled across the forest’s demon already. Careful to keep your motions smooth and silent, you creep towards the noise, intent on discovering whether or not this is the source of whatever has led the Skaians to believe they’re haunted by a demon. When you reach the edge of the clearing where the noises came from, however, you come to an immediate halt, jaw dropping in surprise at the scene before you.

The first things you notice are the wings, which, yes. They are quite striking. Two massive, black bird wings extend from the back of a young man crouched over a dead fox on the forest floor. All things considered, you really weren’t expecting to _actually_ come across a demon in the forest. You’re so startled that you don’t even feel flustered at his total nudity.

You must make some kind of noise because the winged creature’s head snaps up, and the eyes pinning you in place are the same sharp, searing orange as an ember about to catch flame _._ You think you gasp, and he curls his wings forward protectively, hiding the fox and most of his own body from sight.

You clear your throat, now that you’ve been spotted, and put on a smile. “Hello,” you greet him

He spits out a raspy hiss in response, and the feathers on his wings fluff out, making them look twice as large and very, very solid. The overall effect is admittedly rather imposing, and you swallow, quietly reaching for your throwing knives just in case. “I say, my good fellow, those are quite the accessories you’ve got there. My name is Jake. What’s yours?” After a few tense moments in which the creature glares motionlessly at you while you shift awkwardly from foot to foot, you add, “Er, can you understand me?”

“I understand that you should step off and get lost, _Jake,_ ” the creature replies. And, despite the muted venom in the way he throws your name back at you, his voice is a beautiful tenor that has you leaning forward without conscious thought. Then you process the words themselves and straighten with offense.

“Hey, now, there’s no need for that kind of antagonism,” you tell him crossly. “Can’t a bloke introduce himself without the recipient of that introduction jumping down his friggin throat? Jiminy-jumping-crickets! And you didn’t even introduce yourself in return; how is _that_ fair?”

It isn’t until you see the creature’s eyes go wide that you realize you’ve taken a few steps closer during your small rant. You quickly raise your hands to indicate that you mean him no harm, but he’s already leaning away from you. He glances quickly between you and the fox hidden behind his wings before his jaw visibly clenches, and he springs off the ground with a flap of those massive wings, propelling him up to the lowest branches in the trees.

You barely have time to shout in surprise and dismay before he’s flitted off across the branches, leaving you alone with a dead fox. “Tarnations!” you curse, kicking at the ground. You can’t believe you drove him off like that! The most fascinating thing--person--you’ve come across in your adventuring, and you scared him off like a cad.

Your gaze drops to the fox on the ground, and your frustration shifts to guilt. You must have interrupted him hunting, and he was so determined to get away that he didn’t even take his catch with him. Who knows how long it must have taken him to get the drop on a piece of game like this? You nudge at the fox with the toe of your boot and hope that the magnificent winged creature won’t be too hungry as a result of all this.

...Damnation. You heave a long sigh and crouch to pick up the fox. You take a look around, noting your location so that you’ll be able to find your way back, and turn to take the fox to Skaia. After the impression you made, you sorely doubt the creature will come back for its meal, so you might as well make use of it. And, of course, now that you’ve essentially stolen his catch, you’re obligated to repay him, demon or not, right?

The possibility of being able to see him again if you keep coming back to bring him game certainly doesn’t factor into that decision, oh no, definitely not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I spent more time on this trying to tone-match Jake’s dialogue than on the rest of the editing combined. jake your speech patterns are killing me jake why are you like this jake it’s okay jake i love you anyway jake even if your speech patterns are driving me out of my head jake


	2. A Taste for Adventure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the false alarm earlier this week! Turns out this chapter needed a biiiit more work. :) Enjoy!
> 
> (Chapter title is from the song of the same name on the Homestuck bandcamp.)

The sun is just starting to set when you get back to Skaia, and you make a beeline for Jane’s tavern. You figure that even if she doesn’t seem to want to let you pay for your meals or drinks in coin, you can at least repay her kindness with meat for a few meals. It’s early enough when you walk in that the tavern is mostly empty; there’s just a group of four older gentlemen playing cards in one corner while Jane and Roxy gossip with each other over the bar. Everyone looks up when you come in, and one of the men leans back to gesture at the fox you’re still carrying. “Thinkin’ of elbowing in on our turf?” he asks, and you can’t quite tell if he’s joking or not.

“Beg pardon?” you ask, hesitating just inside the entrance.

“Ignore him,” Jane calls from the bar. “Jake, that’s the Midnight Crew; they do most of the hunting for the town. Jack, this is Jake; he’s staying in town for a few days while he’s passing through. Don’t be rude!”

Jack rolls his eyes and grumbles something but leaves you be. The Midnight Crew turn back to their card game, and Roxy waves you over.

“Hey, Jake! Jane was telling me you were ging-- _going_ to go check out the spooky-ooky demon in the forest. Looks like you jus’ found yourself, though.” She giggles and reaches for a glass on the bar, taking a large gulp of what you assume to be even more alcohol.

Both you and Jane look at her strangely. “I’m afraid I don’t quite comprehend the implication,” you tell her.

“‘Cause you’re a fox! Amirite, Jane? Total fox.” Roxy laughs harder and slouches over the bar, resting her head on her arm.

On the other side of the bar, Jane flushes. “Roxy, don’t be rude. Besides, didn’t you tell me he didn’t seem interested in…” she trails off, glancing between you and Roxy, and blushes harder. The confusion doesn’t stop from happening. “ _Ahem._ Jake, I’m glad you made it back safely, and I certainly hope you got that whim out of your system, hoo hoo! Why don’t you pull up a seat? Um. About that fox, are you just going to hold onto it…?”

“Oh!” You walk up next to Roxy and lift up the fox. “Here; I happened to come across this specimen while I was out in the woods and thought I would deliver it back to you! I postulated that you would have some notion of what to do with it.”

Roxy, who had just started to get control over her laughter, dissolves into giggles again. “Fricking adorable,” you hear her gasp. “Alright, Jane, it’s offal--nope, official. I ain’t getting anywhere, so you’ve gotta at least try to get that on tap.” You...really hope she’s not talking about making liquor out of the fox, but you don't want to consider what else she could be referring to.

Jane clears her throat and turns to address you, ignoring Roxy. Her entire face is bright red. “Thank you, Jake! If you don’t mind, I could certainly use it for stew tomorrow. I’m sure it will add a nice flavor.” She takes the fox from you and leaves to store it in the back room.

You sit down to wait for Jane to return. Beside you, Roxy taps her glass against the bar and grins. “So, hey, how’d the demon-hunting go? See any demons, or just fuckses? Foxes, fuck. Although pfft maybe that’s where all my fucks ran off to.” She laughs again and takes several large swallows from her glass.

You grin. “As a matter of fact, I did see the demon! Or, at least, I’m pretty darn confident that he was the creature you were putting me under advisement against earlier.”

Roxy snorts in surprise and chokes on the last bit of her drink. You exclaim, “Gaia’s grace, are you alright?” She waves you off and sputters for a few seconds. You grab a rag off the bar and hand it to her; she uses it to clean her face as her airways clear again. Jane comes back, eyebrows high at the scene you two make, just as Roxy gets herself back under control.

“Um. Is this a bad time?” another voice asks from behind you, and you twist to see the shortest of the Midnight Crew standing behind you. He smiles past you to Jane and lifts four precariously balanced mugs in his hands. “Next round is on the Dignitary, but I’m in charge of carrying them over.”

“No, it’s fine,” Jane tells him distractedly, taking the mugs. “Roxy, goodness, are you alright?”

“Ignore me; I’m fine. O-M-G, Jake, _what?_ ” Roxy gasps, still gaping at you.

“I found the demon you were telling me about,” you tell her, “although now that I think about it, I think you all perhaps have selected the wrong taxonomy for the fellow.” You grin at the three Skaians, who are all staring at you. Jane’s hand is hovering forgotten over a bottle of liquor. “In light of this happenstance, I think I’m very much inclined to stick around for a while longer and see if I can’t engage the rapscallion in dialogue, maybe sort out where he came from and what he’s doing out there.”

“Wow, you saw the demon?” the Crew member gasps. “That’s...wow!” He bounces in place a little bit, and you both grin in shared excitement.

Meanwhile, Roxy looks over at Jane, who shakes her head and smiles gently at you. “Jake, there’s no need for all this. If you want to stick around for a while longer, you can just ask! We’re happy to have you, and Roxy was telling me that she finished a couple of hours earlier than she usually does because of your help. You don’t need to make up stories about seeing some kind of monster in the forest to convince us to let you stay.”

You straighten, affronted. “I beg your pardon! I assure you, I’m not falsifying a thread of this yarn. He had two giant black wings and bright orange eyes. I say,” you add, looking back at the Crew member, “surely that description rings a bell in the old noggin?”

“Oh, well,” he says, fidgeting. “I never actually saw the demon, myself!” He turns back to the rest of the Crew. “Brute, do you remember what that demon you told me about looked like?”

A truly bulky man, presumably this Brute fellow, looks over at the question. “Yer not on this again, are ya?” he groans. “Droll, for Hera’s sake, I was pullin’ yer leg. There was some kinda critter out there what was tearin’ the place apart, but I never saw nothin’ like an actual demon.”

The fourth Crew member snorts but doesn’t look up from his hand of cards. “He just wanted to see if you’d fall for it,” he informs Droll. “I know it's a terrible disappointment to you, but the truth is that we found signs that whatever kept tearing through our equipment was a predator far bigger than our usual hunting fare, and Noir was too nervous about running into it.” He draws a card from the deck and shuffles it into his hand. “So we hunt in the outskirts, instead, which has plentiful enough game, and Noir’s delicate sensibilities remain intact.”

“Hey, watch your fuckin’ mouth,” Noir spits, leveling a knife at him that you didn’t even see him grab. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with my sensibilities, Dignitary; just common fuckin’ sense to keep our distance from whatever could do shit like that. We’re hunters, not mercs.”

The Dignitary smirks but otherwise pays no mind to the threat. “As I said, your delicate sensibilities remain intact.”

Noir growls, and for a moment it looks like there’s going to be a brawl, but Jane’s voice cuts in before it can escalate anymore. “I’ll have none of that here, thank you!” she calls to them as she finishes pouring the Midnight Crew’s drinks. She hands the mugs back to Droll, who scurries back to the table. Noir grumbles something but obligingly settles back in his chair, and the card game continues.

“Alright,” you say to the girls once the excitement’s passed, “but I _did_ see a winged man out in the forest, and it seems to me that this demon of yours is the best fit.”

“Now, see here,” Jane tells you, half-laughing as she wipes down the counter in front of Roxy. “I’ve seen some strange things over the years, but if you’re trying to convince me that only a day after coming into town, you just _happened_ to wander into the forest and just _happened_ to stumble across some kind of bird-person that you think resembles the demon you just _happened_ to hear about this very morning, and which _none_ of the Midnight Crew has managed to catch a glimpse of--despite hunting in the woods for years--well, buster, I’m afraid I’m going to have to call your bluff!”

“Ya gotta admit, it sounds petty--pretty far-fetched,” Roxy adds, hiccuping. She nudges her empty glass towards Jane, who looks at it, sighs, and refills it. “Espeshully since it, like, used to destroy the MC’s equipment, and you look fine.” She pauses as Jane brings back her glass, a wide grin spreading across her face. “ _Realllllly_ fine.” She winks, swaying slightly.

“Ugh, Roxy,” Jane mutters, shaking her head.

“Excuse you,” you say, “but I object to this mightily! I know what I saw out there, and I take offense to the implication that I would be so duplicitous as to fabricate such a tale as some kind of excuse for maintaining my current occupation in your town!” Beside you, Roxy buries her face in her arms and giggles quietly, but she doesn’t try to interject. “I’m not sure what I’ve done to earn these defamatory expectations on my character, but I’d appreciate you telling me so that I can clear up any misunderstandings posthaste.”

Jane huffs a breath and puts a hand on her hip. “Jake, calling the objectively unrealistic aspects of your story into question isn’t the same as--oh, never mind; let’s just agree to move on. It’s not that big of a deal, really.”

You’re honestly still a little irked, but you decide not to push the issue. You’ll just have to bring back concrete proof, something she can’t explain away! “Alright,” you tell her. “We can table this notion for now, but I’ll find a way to convince you yet.” Perhaps you can find a discarded feather and bring it back? That will certainly be solid enough proof.

She smiles in a way that clearly shows that she’s just humoring you and changes the topic to dinner, bringing out a meal for you when you tell her you didn’t have already plans for what to eat. You and Roxy sit at the bar for a few hours more, and the tavern slowly fills as more and more residents finish their work for the day. It seems that Jane’s tavern really is the social center of the town, and you chat with Roxy while you observe Jane interact with the rest of the townspeople. In addition to providing food and drink, Jane seems to be just as connected with the rest of the town as Roxy, and you overhear her coordinate a few arrangements between people looking for help with something and people who have skills in those areas. It’s honestly kind of impressive, and after a while you just sit back and watch her buzz around in almost constant motion as she somehow manages to keep up with the demands around her.

Eventually, a loud snore interrupts your conversation with Jane during one of her brief respites, and the two of you look over to see Roxy passed out against the bar. Your eyebrows furrow, and Jane sighs, deflating. “Shoot. Usually she makes it home before she gets this far,” she says. “Hang on a minute, and I’ll help you get her home.” The tavern is definitely busy now, but Jane finishes serving a young man further down the bar (he signs something in response, and you realize that he doesn’t seem able to speak) and comes around the bar to stand by Roxy.

“Wait, erm...oh, gosh, I hope this doesn’t sound particularly patronizing, but is it alright for you to leave your establishment unattended?” you ask. Jane loops one of Roxy’s arms over her shoulders, and you hurry to take the other side. With your height differences, you end up supporting most of Roxy’s weight, but the two of you manage and start dragging Roxy out of the tavern.

“Hoo, hoo!” Jane chuckles. “Oh, don’t worry about that. Everyone in town knows not to fiddle with anything when I’m not there.” When you get to Roxy’s house, Jane lets you all in, and you move Roxy into her bedroom. “Can you hold her for a minute while I prep the bed?” Jane asks, and you nod, holding Roxy more firmly against your side. Jane ducks out from under Roxy’s arm and helps you guide her down once the blankets have been pulled down. You take a step back, then, and watch as Jane rearranges Roxy’s limbs with practiced tugs, seemingly unbothered by the dead weight. Roxy gurgles something in her sleep but otherwise doesn’t react.

You hesitate for a long time, unsure if you should bring this up, but you gird your loins and ask, “Jane? You know that drinking like this isn’t healthy, right?”

Jane snorts as she adjusts Roxy’s head on the pillow. “You don’t say,” she says, voice dry. She pulls the blankets up over Roxy’s shoulders.

You rub one of your arms. “So...perhaps there’s a possibility I’m misreading this, but you and Roxy seem to be practically bosom buddies. I’m sure she’d listen if you said something to her about it!”

Jane pauses with her hand resting on Roxy’s shoulder, and she doesn’t look up at you. “I’m afraid it’s not that straightforward,” is all she says.

You look away and fidget, stomach sinking. Maybe she’s right; as much as you like them, you’ve only known them for a day. You don’t know their stories, and you’re in no position to judge. After a minute, Jane sighs and ushers you out of Roxy’s room. “Get some sleep,” she tells you. “I’ll see you tomorrow for breakfast.”

“Good night,” you tell her, and she leaves.

* * *

Roxy is slow out of bed again the next morning, and you end up poking around her living room for a bit while you wait for her to get up. She’s probably not too worried about you seeing anything she left lying out in the common areas, so you take a look at the projects she has spread across her work desk. You murmur an automatic prayer to her shrine of Hephaestus and glance at the top page of parchment. Your eyebrows lift. You had been expecting schematics or records for her inventions and repairs, but this seems to be a narrative. Curious, you pick up the first few pages and read through them.

They...seem to be religious histories? You’d think perhaps she was collecting stories of the gods’ exploits, except you’re reasonably confident that you’ve never seen a retelling of Hecate and Demeter’s search for Persephone that was quite so, er. Explicit. And she just leaves these lying out?

Flustered, you put the pages back where you found them and move on to the strange cylindrical project that you had noticed your first night. Even with a closer examination, you can’t decipher its purpose; it’s still just a long, metal tube with a few joints and levers on one end. You grimace and decide to look at the garden Roxy mentioned, instead.

Yesterday morning, you had just glanced outside long enough to verify that Roxy wasn’t out here. Today, you actually step out the back door and immediately pause, taken aback. That is a truly enormous amount of pumpkins. In fact, it appears that every plant in this garden is a pumpkin. You...don’t really know what to do with this information.

Roxy finally leaves her room as you go back inside, but she doesn’t acknowledge you as she stumbles to the kitchen. “Erm,” you manage, but she doesn’t seem to hear you. You wince as she again pulls a bottle of alcohol out of the cabinet and slams a few swallows back. “Ah. Roxy?”

Roxy jumps and almost knocks the bottle off the counter when she whirls to face you. “Holy fuck! Jake? What the fuck, where did you come from?”

Um. “I...your spare bedroom? Jane and I brought you back from the tavern last night, but you’d already agreed to let me stay the night again.”

“You did? Wow, haha, I don’t remember that at all.” She pushes her frizzy hair back from her face and taps the fingertips of her other hand against the counter. “Uhh, welp, guess I drank a little more than I thought. Last thing I remember is talking to Jane about how you were going into the forest; I barely even remember you getting back.”

“Oh.” You briefly consider telling her about the demon again and seeing if she’ll be more open to the possibility this morning...but honestly, you’d rather not deal with the skepticism again. You decide to wait until you’ve got more proof to bring it up. “I brought back a fox for Jane,” you tell her instead.

She looks amused. “I guess your trip into the woods was successful in at least one way, huh? Figures you’d manage to lure in all the foxes out there,” she laughs, winking at you. “Hey, give me a few minutes to wash up and we’ll go to Jane’s for breakfast, alright?” she asks, already walking towards the bathroom.

* * *

You’re a little concerned that Jane will hold your little blunder last night against you, but when you and Roxy walk into her tavern, she greets you cheerfully and puts a plate of food in front of you just like she did yesterday.

“Good morning!” she chirps at the two of you. “You’re out and about earlier than I expected this morning.”

“Ain’t nothin’ that’ll get me out of bed in the morning faster than the promise of seeing your smiling face,” Roxy tosses back at her, winking.

Jane giggles. “Hoo, hoo! You flatterer. How about you, Jake, did you sleep well?” She turns to you, and you don’t see even a hint of irritation about last night.

“I slept quite well, thank you!” you reply. “And yourself?”

“Can’t complain! Oh, and thank you again for bringing back that fox yesterday. I think it’ll really spice up tonight’s stew.”

You smile at Jane and cheerfully ask for seconds, which she brings you before she gets called away by someone else farther down the bar. The rest of your breakfast with Roxy passes amicably, and before long you’re on your way to get through more repairs. Roxy tells you that if you keep sticking around, maybe she’ll have you help her with some inventions she’s working on. This prompts you to ask her about the strange gizmo you saw this morning, and you listen in fascination as she tells you all about harnessing fire to cause controlled explosions.

* * *

You and Roxy finish early again, so you take advantage of the afternoon to take your traps into the woods to do a little hunting. It takes a couple of hours and several failed attempts, but eventually you manage to snare and kill a rabbit, which you string up and carry with you to the clearing where you’d found the demon. With some effort, you loop a rope around a tree branch and attach the snared rabbit so that any wild animals roaming nearby will be unable to reach it. Knowing that the intended recipient won’t come out if you’re around, you return to Skaia for the night.

You have no guarantee that the demon will come back to the same part of the forest, but you think there’s a good chance that he lives relatively nearby. Sure, he could have been venturing far from his nest to hunt (Does he even live in a nest? Gosh, you just have so many questions!), but you think it’s more likely that he was hunting within a certain range of his home base, so to speak.

At least, that’s what you hope, but with every day that you come back to find your previous day’s catch untouched, you get a little more disheartened. It doesn’t help that you have to spend most of your day helping Roxy around town, so you don’t have much time in the afternoon to trek out here, hunt a rabbit or a squirrel, and tie it up from the branches of a tree for the creature to collect. Once or twice, you don’t even manage to catch anything before you have to head back or risk getting caught in the forest at night. A week of this goes by, and you start to wonder if maybe you’ve scared the creature away from the region entirely. You also start to see Jane pursing her lips whenever she sees you heading out to the woods in what you’ve taken to calling nature hikes. She’s still cheerful enough when you go in to eat, though, so you figure she isn’t upset, even if she still seems to think you’re making the demon up.

Finally, ten days after seeing the creature, you’re in the process of stringing up a large squirrel that you were lucky to trap when you’re interrupted. “If you’re leaving those as sacrifices in the hopes of getting a blessing or something from me, I should warn you that you’re barking up the wrong tree,” a voice says from above and behind you, making you startle. You turn and look up, and the dark-feathered creature from before is staring down at you from his perch high in the trees. There are enough branches and leaves between you to obscure most of him from view, but you can clearly see those bright eyes inspecting you from under a mess of shaggy white hair.

As you stare, he continues, “Dogs everywhere are shaking their heads in dismay and embarrassment. ‘Shit,’ they’re muttering to each other. ‘Look at that poor asshole. He keeps yapping at those branches like he’s got everything figured out, but no one wants to be the one to tell him the birds migrated away months ago.’ You’ll be standing there, barking ‘till the leaves all fall with nothing to show for it but a sore throat.”

It takes you a moment to parse through all of that, but you manage, “I think ‘offering’ would be a more accurate nomer than ‘sacrifice,’ inasmuch as I’m offering them to you as recompense for blundering through your hunting the other day.”

“Hm,” he says. Those huge, dark wings flex out before resettling behind his back, tips crossing a foot or so below the branch. “Apology accepted, then. You can go now.”

That’s a clear dismissal if you’ve ever heard one, but...you can’t just move on without at least attempting to learn more about this strange creature. “You’re not much of a demon after all, are you?” you say, leaning back against a tree and crossing your arms. You’re not going anywhere just yet.

Your question earns you a startled look. He quickly catches himself and looks off into the distance, expression wiped blank. “A demon. Is that what they’re calling me?” he muses. “Not very original, going to have to take some points off for that, but all things considered it’s not too far off the mark.” He looks back down at you and arches an eyebrow. “You should get back to the rest of your kind. Apparently there’s a dangerous demon in this forest. Wouldn’t want you to...catch his attention.”

“Well, I certainly hate to be contrary, my good fellow, but I reckon that’s exactly what I’m fixing to do!” you call up to him cheerfully. “Besides, you don’t seem that dangerous to me.”

“You’d be surprised,” he chuckles, but it’s enough to get him to shift down a few branches until you have a clear view of each other. “You called yourself Jake, right?”

“I--yes.” You’re distracted by the parts of him that you can see unobscured, now. What you had thought was just a trick of the light is actually the skin on his arms. They look normal from the shoulder to about the elbow, but after that the pale skin is flecked with black patches of leathery, almost reptilian scales. A little above the wrists, the human skin disappears completely, leaving hands covered in a pebbled black surface. They terminate in long, curved talons, which press into the bark of the branch below him. Although the balls of his bare feet balance his crouched weight on the branch, you think his talons do the heavy lifting of making sure that he stays anchored to his perch.

And speaking of, ahem, balls… “Say, you wouldn’t happen to have a set of vestments lying around that you could adorn yourself with, would you?” you ask, cheeks flushing as you try to keep your eyes averted from the man’s crotch. It’s particularly noticeable given your relative positions. You tug at your collar and clear your throat.

“I do not,” he tells you, and now he definitely sounds amused. “If it bothers you, you should leave.” There’s a brief pause before he adds, “You should probably leave anyway, even if it doesn’t bother you. You really don’t belong out here.”

“If it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll stick it out, thanks!” You flash him a grin and wink, pointedly looking at his face instead of...elsewhere. “This is much too interesting to just let it pass me by.”

He gives you an unimpressed look. “So, does the term ‘self-preservation’ have no meaning to you, or…?”

You puff your cheeks out in frustration. “Zeus’s beard! You’re a right crotchety sort, aren’t you?”

 _“Don’t bring His name here.”_ The demand is harsh, and you jump, startled at the sudden shift from what you had thought to be reasonably friendly banter. The creature has his weight braced more firmly against the branch, wings partially spread, and he looks nothing if not ready to pounce on you claws first. You let your crossed arms drop, leaving your hands closer to your knives. You’d really rather not have this turn to a rough-and-tumble, but you don’t want to be left defenseless if he turns out to be more than just talk.

“Apologies,” you tell him, not entirely sure what actually set him off. Surely it couldn’t be the mere mention of the Father of Gods? Although, perhaps if he really _is_ a demon…

That seems to placate him a bit, but his voice is still angry when he tells you, “You can blindly worship whatever you want when you’re out of this forest, but the gods are not welcome here. I won’t tolerate it.”

“Alright,” you say, raising your palms in a soothing gesture. “I mean, I don’t really consider myself the terribly religious type, anyway, so it’s no skin off my back to check the divine references at the door, so to speak. I didn’t mean to upset you.” Struck with a sudden idea, you reach behind you for the squirrel you’d been planning to leave for him. “This was meant to be an apology for ruining your hunt before, but it can be an apology for this instead, if that better suits your fancy.”

The last of the threat leaves his posture as he quirks a tiny, almost disbelieving smile at you. “And you’re still here, seriously? Even after that. You don’t have a single grain of sense in there, do you?” he asks, shaking his head. “Shit, man. Try to warn a guy off for his own safety, and he responds with an apology squirrel. What the hell.”

Instead of replying to that, you gesture more insistently with the squirrel and wait. It takes several long seconds of enduring the creature’s measured stare, but eventually the effort pays off when he spreads his great wings and drops the rest of the way to the forest floor. Now standing on a level with him at opposite sides of the small clearing, your hand starts to shake with nerves, and you quietly gulp.

It’s not that you find him threatening, exactly. In fact, if you ignore the wings you’re pretty sure you’ve got at least thirty pounds on him, and he’s certainly not behaving like he’s about to attack you right now. But, even neatly tucked away behind him, those wings are _massive_ , and his discolored arms and taloned hands hit a nerve in your hindbrain that makes you want to tuck your own arms over your vulnerable spots. Combine all that with the unselfconscious nudity and his balanced, graceful stride as he approaches...no, this creature might not be frightening, but he’s certainly _imposing_.

He stops a few paces away from you, and you stare at each other, each taking the other’s measure. You hold his ember-orange eyes with your own and hope that, whatever he’s looking for, you’re up to muster. After a small eternity, his eyes flick away from yours and settle on the squirrel in your outstretched hand. Again, you wait, trying desperately to hold your hand steady and hide the small quivering that you can’t entirely quash.

Finally, he reaches out with his own clawed hand and grasps the squirrel just below your grip. Your hands are nearly touching, only a finger’s breadth apart. You hold your breath and relax your hand, letting him take it from you. You’re so tempted to let your fingers fall to touch that strange leathery skin as he pulls away, but you think that would be a mistake right now.

The creature takes a few steps back from you, but his posture now is the most relaxed you’ve seen it. He eyes you over again and nods as he comes to some kind of decision. “You really should go back to normal human society and never return here,” he tells you, voice soft. “But...if you do come back, you can call me Dirk.”

“Dirk,” you agree, letting a brilliant grin spread across your face. He blinks, lips parting just slightly. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then!”

“Uh. Right.” He shakes his head and takes another step back. “See you then...Jake.” Then he turns, jumps back into the tree branches with a flap of his wings, and disappears into the woods.

You almost don’t even care if Jane never believes you. This is a reward all in its own. You return to Skaia with a wide grin on your face and don’t even try to dampen it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, the stage is set and the players are in position. *rubs hands together* Let’s get this show on the road! :D
> 
> (also i’m sorry for making the centerpiece of that really dramatic moment a dead squirrel. please forgive me. i promise there will be much fewer dead animals after this.)


	3. This Life We've Maid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title: Eyyyy, classpect references! I’ve got a few of those prepared. *finger guns and a wink*
> 
> The wing appreciation: It begins :D (I’d like to thank the Maximum Ride fandom for having some really great references and headcanons for human-avian anatomy/physiology. Some of those are way better than the stuff I came up with!)

Although you don’t see him at first, Dirk is waiting for you when you get back to the clearing in the woods the next afternoon. He drops out of the trees just as you’re about to call out for him, and your voice catches in your throat as you jolt backwards. “Gadzooks,” you gasp, clutching at your breast. “You gave me a start!”

He opens his mouth, then closes it as a strange expression crosses his face. “Sorry?” he tries, tilting his head slightly.

“Think nothing of it,” you reassure him, grinning as you get your heart rate back under control. You wipe your suddenly sweaty hands on your shorts and take a couple of steps forward, stopping when Dirk tenses. Your smile slips. “Um. Is this...not okay?”

It takes him a moment to reply, but he shakes his head and takes a step forward himself. “It’s fine.”

“Right.” You look him over. He doesn’t exactly look fine. His shoulders are hunched up almost to his ears, and behind him you can see the feathers on his wings starting to puff up. On the other hand, the expression on his face is so mulishly determined that it almost looks like he’s glaring at you, so you mutely hold your hand out in greeting for him to shake.

Dirk stares at it for a long moment, long enough that you start to wonder if perhaps you’ll have to explain the concept of handshakes to him, but then he reaches out and grasps your hand. His grip is a little too tight, and you’re aware of the sharp pressure of his claws against the back of your hand, but the majority of your attention is occupied at marveling at the feel of his strange skin.

It’s not smooth, and it doesn’t give the same way that human skin does, but the leathery texture still feels oddly...nice. You stare down at his charcoal-black hand next to your own earthier brown and rub your thumb across the back of his hand just to feel the way that it catches against the tiny ridges. His fingers twitch, and you look up at the sound of shuffling feathers, only to find yourself staring directly into those fiery eyes. You swallow, captivated.

After a few seconds, Dirk breaks eye contact to look down at your hands, still clasped together. You flush with embarrassment as you realize you’ve just been staring at him awkwardly. You clear your throat and let go, taking a step back. “Gosh, sorry about that!” you say, rubbing your hands together. “I don’t know what came over me.”

Dirk waves it off and moves away to sit on a small boulder to one side of the clearing. He leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees, giving his long wings space behind him so that the tips don’t brush against the ground. You try not to get distracted by...well, by any host of things. His wings, his eyes, his hands, his nudity. He’s very distracting.

Instead, you tug at your collar and drop to sit cross-legged on the ground in front of Dirk. “So, Dirk!” you say cheerfully. “Tell me about yourself.” He gives you a long stare and raises an eyebrow. “...or perhaps not?”

Like he was waiting for a cue, he demands, “Why are you so adamant about all this?” You blink, and he runs a hand through his hair. “You said yourself that you originally thought I was a demon; that isn’t exactly a glowing recommendation to seek out my company. In fact, I’d say it’s a pretty good reason to run for the fuckin’ hills. But instead you decided to spend more than a week trying to get me to come out and, what, talk to you? Be friends or something? Shit’s kind of fucked up, man.”

This is not how you expected this to go. You puff out your cheeks and brace your chin on your fists, elbows on your knees. “I suppose I can grant that from your perspective, it does seem a rather foolhardy plan,” you admit, “but it worked, didn’t it? As for the rationale of my motivation, well, I’ve never seen a creature like yourself before! You must understand that you hold some measure of fascination for an adventurer like myself. I can assure you that I have no intentionality of taking advantage of you, if that’s what has you all tied up in knots--only equitable exchanges for me, thanks!” You grin.

By the end of your spiel, both of his eyebrows have disappeared behind his fringe. “Equitable, huh,” he says. The talons of one hand tap against his knee. “Alright. Why the hell not? You can go first.”

You squeak. “Me? Um, alright, but gosh I don’t know what to talk about. Er, is there anything in particular you wanted to know?”

Dirk asks you about how you came to the village north of the woods, so you tell him about Grandma Jade and your misadventures while trying to reach The Furthest Ring. “But I have to admit, all things considered I think I actually managed to hit the friggin jackpot by stumbling across you!” You shoot him two finger guns and a wink. “And Skaia seems lovely, from what I’ve seen, especially for a town so out of the way. It’s no hardship for me to stay here for a while. What about you; what leads a fine gent like yourself to be living in a fantastical situation like this?”

While you had been regaling him with your adventures so far, he had looked increasingly curious and engaged. At that question, though, he draws back again and regains his guarded air. “Not a lot of places want a cursed monster hanging around,” he says. “Can’t really say I blame them, either. It’s for the best this way.”

Is he serious? “Well, if that’s not the biggest load of hogwash I’ve ever heard,” you snap back. “There’s more than enough of the Curse to go around! It’s not like you’re going to make it any worse for anyone else.”

You catch a flicker of a grimace before he shuts down. “There are plenty of people who would disagree with you,” he tells you flatly. “And, honestly? I think they’ve got the right idea. It’s not safe to be around me.”

“ _Dirk,_ ” you say, exasperated with this malarkey he’s spouting off. The use of his name seems to catch him off-guard; you see his wings twitch. “I told you yesterday, I don’t think you’re dangerous, and that hasn’t changed.” You give him a moment to let that sink in before changing the subject. “Is that how you ended up like that?” you ask, gesturing at his wings and arms. “The Curse?”

He stares at you silently for several seconds, and as interesting as those brightly colored eyes are to look at, this habit of his is getting a little old. Finally, he drops his gaze and gives you a small nod. Nothing else is forthcoming. You let out a frustrated puff of air.

“Here’s a question, then,” you say. “Are you the one who wrecked the Midnight Crew’s hunting equipment when they used to hunt out here?”

“The Midnight Crew...are those the hunters from the village north of here? Skaia?” he asks. At your affirmation, he tenses even further. “You didn’t tell them I’m out here, did you? Or anyone else.”

“Er.” You hesitate, and his feathers fluff up alarmingly. “Hold on, don’t get yourself into a tizzy! I, erm, may have mentioned it, but no one seemed interested. I doubt anyone will come out here looking for you, if that’s what you’re worried about.” You had decided not to bring it up again last night because you didn’t have any more solid proof to persuade Jane, but you think that even if you had she wouldn’t have believed you.

“You _may have mentioned it?_ ” Dirk repeats back to you. His wings start to lift. “How many people did you tell?!”

You think back quickly, aware that Dirk looks increasingly upset with each moment it takes you to remember who was present. “Only six,” you recall. “The Midnight Crew and my two friends Roxy and Jane.”

“Six. Fuck.” Dirk doesn’t look even slightly reassured. If anything, he’s looking more and more like he’s about to flee, the way he did the first time you saw him.

You lean towards him, palms out. He can’t disappear again, not after you’ve just got him to agree to talk to you! “It’s not like any of them believed me, though!” you say. “Jane and Roxy thought I was just making you up for, I don’t know, an excuse to stick around or something; and the Midnight Crew thought that all their equipment had been torn up by an animal of some kind. I’m the only one who actually believes you’re out here.”

Dirk looks angry now, but at least he stops moving like he’s about to take off into the trees. “You can’t tell anyone where I am,” he says darkly. “I ran off the hunters for a reason. If you bring anyone else out here, you’ll see just how much of a demon I can be.”

...Cripes, talk about melodrama. “Is this about the whole curse thing again?” you ask. “I sincerely think you’re over-reacting; I’m sure you would get along smashingly with the Skaians I’ve met so far.”

“I’m fucking serious, Jake.” He glares at you. “No one else can know I’m out here. This is important.”

You still think this is a massive over-reaction, but you acquiesce. “Alright, but now that I’m apparently sworn to secrecy, will you disclose more about your living situation?”

He finally settles back down into a more comfortable position on the rock. “I live in the forest,” he tells you, completely straight-faced.

“Well, yes, but do you have a nest or something?” you ask, exasperated at his curmudgeonly attitude to even the most casual inquiries. “Do you live in a tree hollow somewhere? I must say that would be charming, if a bit cramped.”

He snorts. “I’m pretty sure that’s some kind of racist.” He still looks a little guarded, but at least some of his tension has unwound again. Aphrodite’s sake, but if this fellow isn’t strung tighter than a drum. “But to answer your question, I live in a cave. It’s hella bodacious. The rest of y’all are missing out.”

“A cave!” You lean forward, pleased when it doesn’t result in him pulling back an equal amount. You daresay you’re building a rapport with this curious creature “That sounds positively rugged.”

He shrugs and tells you a bit more about the cave he lives in, and you edge closer as he talks. You’re still listening, but you take advantage of the proximity to take a gander at those hands of his. (Alas, his wings are still tucked away behind him.) Dirk isn’t a very animated speaker, so they mostly dangle motionlessly from his knees, occasionally twitching in muted gestures. The talons look solid but slightly dulled, although the feel of them against your hand earlier was enough to tell you that if he put some force behind them they could do some serious damage. It’s strange, seeing features that are clearly bird-like superimposed on a human-shaped hand, but you have to admit the result is terribly striking.

Dirk finishes his description of the cave (and it sounds surprisingly homey! You’d quite like to visit it, if he ever lets you), and a more pressing question occurs to you. “Say, where are you from, anyway? I assume you didn’t grow up in these woods. Where did you live before you got all birdied up?”

He’s relaxed a bit while telling you about his home, but now Dirk tenses again and makes you wait through another long pause before he tells you, “I came here from Derse. It’s not a fond memory.” One of his wings twitches.

Your eyes widen as you put the pieces together. “You were in Derse when the Curse was released,” you realize. “Roxy thinks that the Curse originated in Derse. Is that true? Did you see how it transpired?”

“Okay, I think we’re done here.” To your dismay, Dirk gathers his feet under him and prepares to launch himself back into the trees.

“Wait!” you cry, scrambling to your feet as well. “Don’t go. I didn’t mean to bring up unpleasant memories.” He doesn’t pay you any mind, and you frantically try to think of a way to keep him from leaving for good. You’re almost stumbling over your words as you throw out offers. “Listen--I’ll come back tomorrow, and I won’t say a word about Derse or the Curse or anything. Alright? And I’ll bring you something else to apologize for upsetting you.” You hope that another apology gift will still earn his favor as well as the last one did. “You can ask me questions instead! If you’ve been out here all these years, you must be curious about what’s going on in the rest of the world, and I’ve been travelling for some time.”

Something in that spiel of words seems to do the trick, and Dirk hesitates. “...Remember not to tell anyone about me,” he says finally. “And I do mean _anyone._ I’ll...I’ll see you tomorrow.”

And then he’s gone. But he’ll come back, and you breathe a sigh of relief that you haven’t mucked it up completely.

* * *

It’s hard to keep quiet about Dirk, but you manage to respect his wishes in exchange for the promise of being able to keep seeing him. And you do keep seeing him! True to your word, the next afternoon you bring him a basic set of pliers that you fashioned out of a couple of discarded pieces of Roxy’s machinery, and he seems fascinated by it. Although you desperately want to ask him if he knows what exactly happened in Derse, you refrain. (Gods, if he was there, is it possible that he actually saw Pandora? Argh, you wish you could ask him about it without setting him off again.) Maybe you’ll get the full story out of him eventually, but for now you’re satisfied with just interacting him.

You already have a routine of venturing out into the woods after helping Roxy every day, but now you go straight to the clearing and pass a couple of hours chatting with Dirk before you have to race the sunset back to Skaia. He starts to noticeably relax as the days go by. You’re glad for the change.

A week or so after you start talking to Dirk on the daily, the late summer heat hits Skaia with a vengeance, and an untimely bit of cloud cover traps it in overnight. The evening crowd in the tavern is by turns rowdy and listless as everyone swelters, and you and Roxy call it a night earlier than usual. A cold bath provides a little relief, but hours later you’re still tossing and turning in a miserable sprawl on the spare bed. It doesn’t matter how much surface area you expose to the air; it’s too muggy and still for the slightest cooling breeze.

It must be halfway to morning when you finally lurch out of bed with a disgruntled grumble and decide to go for a walk to try to tempt sleep closer. You dress and leave, noting with a hint of envy that Roxy is snoring soundly behind her door. You suppose it’s good that at least one of you is getting some sleep.

Outside, it’s a little bit cooler but still unpleasantly warm. After a moment’s thought, you start down the path that leads back to the center of town, figuring that you’ll walk to Jane’s tavern and back before trying again to fall asleep.

The town looks eerie like this. The light from the waxing moon casts the buildings and pathways in ethereal shadows; in your hazy, half-asleep state, you have the sense that you’re traversing an empty, washed-out dreamscape. It’s quiet but for the occasional buzz of an insect or call of a owl. In this moment, removed from the daily bustle, it feels like you could be the only living person around.

The thought reminds you of other villages you’ve passed through like this, ones where you actually _were_ the only living person after the Curse swept through, and you shiver despite the heat. The moonlit shadows take on a more sinister ambiance, and you pick up your pace, trying to leave the unsettling memories behind you.

Your eyes have adjusted to the moonlight, so it’s almost startling when Jane’s tavern comes into view and you see lights flickering inside. It’s so late that it’s verging on early; are people actually still there? You wander closer and take a look inside.

At first, you think the tavern is empty, but then you notice Jane slumped over a table in the corner. Your heart jumps in your chest. “Jane?” you call, hurrying over.

To your relief, she startles and sits up to look at you as soon as you call her name. “Jake?” she mumbles, squinting up at you. She adjusts her glasses, which had fallen askew. “...Shoot. Is it morning already?”

“No, it’s the middle of the night, but I couldn’t sleep from this damnable heat, so I went for a jaunt--but Jane, what were you doing, sleeping out here like this? Hera’s sake, you should be in bed like the rest of the town!” You nudge at her elbows, trying to urge her up. “Come on, I’ll walk you home.”

Jane yawns and bats your hands away. She picks up a rag and bucket of soapy water that you hadn’t noticed and starts cleaning the table while she talks. “I appreciate it, Jake, but I really need to finish cleaning before I call it a night. Thank you for waking me up, hoo hoo!”

...but it’s the _middle of the night._ “Couldn’t it wait until the morning? It’s just that it seems like you should be getting off to bed, if you’re so tuckered out.”

Jane smiles up at you, and now that you’re looking for it, you notice a certain strain around her eyes, which are themselves reddened and shadowed with exhaustion. “If I don’t get this done tonight, I won’t be able to open in time to serve breakfast before the first farmers head out to the fields tomorrow. I’ll just take a nap after they clear out.”

“Well, if you’re sure....” You watch her finish that table and move on to the next, awkwardly shifting your weight from foot to foot. “Is it usually like this? So busy that you don’t sleep, I mean.”

Humming, Jane continues cleaning while she considers your question. “Sort of? Sure, I’m not usually up _this_ late, but running a tavern this size and with as much business as I do is a lot of work, and it’s not like I have anyone helping me. Then there’s all the other work I do in town: Tonight the Villein needed some help setting up the distribution arrangements and barter agreements for when his harvest comes in, but other days it’s calming people down because Noir threatened to stab someone and needs to be reminded that most people don’t consider that a proper greeting, or arranging for someone to go out and find medical supplies for Ms. Paint, or hosting the whole town for some big event, or helping Roxy with...well, any number of things.”

She grins over at you where you’re gaping at her. It’s somewhat unnervingly manic, particularly with the signs of tiredness on display. “But they’re all things that need to be done, and I’m happy to do them! Sure, it would be _nice_ if everyone could handle their own problems a little better, but I’ve got it under control.” She stops cleaning for a moment and stares down at the rag in her hand. “You should have seen my dad, when he was around. He was so good at this kind of thing. It’s the least I can do, keeping it up now that he’s gone.”

“I’m sure you do his memory proud,” is all you can think of to say at first. You brighten. “Roxy certainly thinks so! Why, just the other day she was regaling me with your accolades and accomplishments, and I must agree that it was all very impressive. She admires you very much.”

“Of course she does,” Jane sighs, but she goes back to cleaning. In a more energetic voice, she continues, “Anyway, I know it’s late. You don’t need to stick around if you don’t want to. I’ll finish up here in a bit and call it a night, and we should both try and get some sleep.”

You consider it and decide, “I’ll wait until you’re finished and walk you home. Given your state of exhaustion earlier, I’ve half a mind to worry that you’ll fall asleep on the walk to your house!”

This earns you a weird look. “Um, Jake? I actually live here. My room is in the back.”

You blink, startled. “Oh. Well, I suppose that must at least be pretty convenient for work and such.” It also makes it a little easier to understand why she fell asleep here earlier.

“That’s true,” she agrees, “and a part of why I decided to do it, hoo hoo! My dad and I used to live in a house not too far from Roxy’s, but when the Wayward Villein and his little posse of friends settled into Skaia, oh, it must have been about six or seven years ago? A few years after my dad passed away, in any case. I was spending most of my time here at that point anyway, and the house was too big for just me, so I sold it to them and moved in here instead.” She finishes cleaning the last table and nods, satisfied. “It all worked out really well.”

“I guess so,” you agree. “Well, I suppose I should let you get to your rest, then!” You think you might be even more awake than you were when you set out, unfortunately, but hopefully the walk back to Roxy’s will be enough for you to wind down and actually get some friggin sleep tonight.

“Sure; you too! Thanks for the company,” Jane tells you, and she waves you out. The light from inside her tavern is still shining as you pass out of sight, but she’s probably just closing everything up for the night. You decide you’ll worry about it if she looks too ragged and tired in the morning. In the meantime, you make your way back to Roxy’s and spend another hour or two tossing and turning in bed until you finally drift off with the first hints of morning creeping over the horizon.

* * *

For the first time since you’ve arrived in Skaia, Roxy wakes up before you the next morning, and she teases you for sleeping in. Jane is her usual perky self when you finally get to her tavern, closer to lunch than breakfast at this point, and you honestly wouldn’t notice the tired edges to her expression if you weren’t actively looking for them. You concede that she seems to have things under control; you’re the one yawning constantly as Roxy drags you around town for repairs. By the time you two finish, you’re about thirty seconds and a horizontal surface away from conking out, and you can’t stifle a groan at the thought of hiking all the way out to the clearing to talk to Dirk. Gods, you would give just about anything to go back to Roxy’s house and be done for the day.

You pause and think that over for a minute. You...technically don’t _have_ to go out to visit Dirk again, today. Dirk has relaxed enough that you no longer worry that he’ll disappear into the depths of the forest if you accidentally offend him again, and the two of you have stopped promising that you’ll meet up the next day as you take your leave. There’s nothing saying you can’t just take a day off and go back to your normal schedule tomorrow. Dirk must have had ways to keep himself busy before you came across him; surely he’ll occupy himself thusly when he figures out you’re not coming today.

Yes, you think you rather like this plan. It’s with a great sense of relief that you inform Roxy that you’re going to head back to the house and tell her not to wait up for you. She seems startled at your change in routine (“What, no nature walk today?”) but wishes you a good rest of the day.

You take advantage of the empty house to take a cool bath and a refreshing nap. When you wake up, it’s still light outside, but you know that if you head to the tavern Jane will be serving dinner. You consider going, for a moment, but...gods, it’s just so _nice_ to be able to enjoy the peace and quiet for a bit. You feel like you’ve been going nonstop ever since you arrived in Skaia, and the thought of venturing into the organized chaos that is Jane’s tavern at dinner time makes you grimace. Instead, you manage to scrounge up something to eat from Roxy’s kitchen (although it’s a feat finding anything edible around all of the bottles) and lock yourself back into the spare room for the night. You’ll pay her back for the food tomorrow.

You sleep better that night than you have in a long while.

* * *

The next afternoon, you still have a rejuvenated perk in your step when you reach the clearing. Dirk doesn’t show up immediately, though, which is strange. Usually he drops out of the trees the moment you arrive. You take a seat on a rock and end up waiting probably fifteen minutes before he appears. “Afternoon, chap!” you greet him, smiling. It fades when he doesn’t make a move to approach you and instead glares coolly. “Er. Chap? Everything tickety-boo?”

“Oh, sure. I’m just surprised to see you back here, is all,” he tells you. “Figured you’d finally got it through your head that you’re better off keeping your distance.”

“Pardon, but what the blazes are you talking about?” You’re baffled. “Is this because I stayed in Skaia yesterday?”

His voice is too level when he says, “I keep telling you it’s dangerous to be around me. When you didn’t show up yesterday, I assumed you’d finally realized I was right.” His wings flick out a bit before settling again.

“That’s not it at all, and I’ll thank you not to put words in my mouth!” you protest. “I was just so friggin exhausted yesterday that I wasn’t up to hiking all the way out here. It was so blasted hot that I barely got a wink of rest, and I ended up napping away the afternoon once I finished helping Roxy around town. I assumed _you’d_ have plenty to keep you occupied with whatever it is you do when I’m not here.”

Dirk blinks at you and finally comes closer to a more friendly distance. “Oh. I guess that makes sense. Was it really that hot down there? It wasn’t so bad up here.”

You snort. “It was absolutely unbearable. I’m a little surprised you weren’t feeling it with all those feathers; I’d imagine they trap the heat something awful.”

He shrugs. “Only sometimes. I can ruffle them enough to get some air flow through them.”

“I’d love to take a gander at those sometime,” you sigh. “Not that I’d impose upon you if you’re not completely comfortable with it, of course! It’s just that I still can’t quite wrap my mind around it; those wings of yours really are quite remarkable.”

He clears his throat and shuffles his wings a bit. “Uh, thanks. Uh. You can look at one of them, if you want?”

“Gosh, really?” You grin and don’t try to hide your excitement at the offer. “That would be the absolute bee’s knees!”

Dirk huffs an amused puff of air and lets his right wing relax out of its tight fold. He crosses his arms as he does. “Sure. Careful, though; these bees’ knees ain’t what they used to be. It’s a whole colony of geriatric bees and their stiff knees, so you’ve got to account for that, get some canes and splints in here. You don’t want those bees’ knees giving out at the wrong moment.”

“Certainly, chap!” you reassure him, standing and stepping within reach. “I’ll be sure to take the utmost care with those fragile knees, not to worry!” As you speak, you cup your hands over the top edge of Dirk’s wing. His jaw snaps shut the moment you come into contact, but he otherwise doesn’t react. You can see him watching you intently out of the corner of your eye, but your focus is almost entirely engaged by the feathered limb before you; even being this close to his naked body barely registers against your sheer fascination and curiosity.

The first thing you do is run your palms flat over the feathers on the inside of his wing. They’re soft and smooth, and you can’t help the smile that spreads across your face as you let your fingertips dip into the spaces between the feathers. There’s a giddy sense of disbelief rising in you. Beside you, Dirk lets out a long, slow breath, and his wing opens a little more.

Emboldened, you trace the structure of the bones in his wing, feeling the soft barbs of the feathers brush over the backs of your knuckles. Dirk lets you pull his wing open a bit wider, manipulating the joints, and you marvel once again at the sheer size of the wings. You think that if he stretched them out straight, each would be at least the length of your full arm span.

“Wow, it must be amazing flying on these,” you say, running a finger down the length of one long feather. The biggest ones are the size of your forearm.

“I wouldn’t know,” he replies, voice quiet. Your gaze snaps up to catch his, and you freeze, caught by the resignation in his eyes. They usually make you think of embers about to catch light, but now you think a banked fire might be more appropriate. “I’ve never managed more than a few yards. I don’t think they were meant to be functional.” He turns his head to face forward, lips quirking despite the lack of amusement in his voice. “Figures.”

You look back at the wing, enthusiasm a little dampened. You suppose it only makes sense for the Curse to have given him something that sets him apart without letting him actually enjoy any benefits, but it’s still disheartening. Still, you’re curious, and Dirk seems to be giving you free reign to sate that curiosity. Tracing the neat lines of his feathers, you duck around Dirk’s wing to see what the back of it looks like from up close.

It’s...different. Distressingly so. You suck in a startled breath in the same moment that Dirk tenses, and you wait with one hand resting on the edge of his wing, sure that he’s about to pull away and reprimand you for taking liberties. When a few seconds pass without either of you making a move, you let the air slip out of you and take the tacit permission to continue your examination.

The feathers on the front of the wing had, with a few exceptions, been neatly arranged and smoothed. The back, by contrast, is a mess of ragged edges and sharply angled barbs. Some of the feathers have bits of dirt and grit stuck in them, even. Instead of the glossy black shine on the front, this side is dull and flecked with gray. It’s...You’re struck with the urge to comb them smooth, but you’re also worried that you might catch a feather at the wrong angle and snap it loose.

The continued silence must be getting to Dirk because he shifts and blurts, “I can’t reach to preen them. Uh.”

You bite your lip. “I could, er, help you with that?”

And now Dirk pulls away from you, already shaking his head as he turns to face you, eyes down and face red. His wings tuck up behind him again, so that all you see are the clean lines of the folded fronts. “Hey, it’s getting late already, isn’t it? Time sure flies and all that. You should get back.”

It’s still well before you would usually leave, but you can take a hint. It’s been a strange day. “I suppose so. ...See you tomorrow?”

For once, he doesn’t make you wait through a long hesitation before answering. “Yeah, I’ll see you then.” He does flit off as soon as you’ve said your goodbyes, though, and you head back to Skaia with some food for thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Gods, if he was there, is it possible that he actually saw Pandora?_
> 
>  
> 
> And this is how I tie in the Hesiod quote from the original art. ;)
> 
> In case there's anyone who’s not versed in the story, the quick and dirty version is: Pandora, in Greek mythology, was sent by Zeus to the mortals in order to punish humanity for stealing fire. (See: Prometheus.) She carried with her a jar (or box, in later translations) containing disease, suffering, and generally a lot of really bad shit; but because she was beautiful and cunning, the mortal emperor/king(?) at the time accepted her with open arms. Pandora then opened the jar/box and released pain and suffering into the world, but she trapped hope inside before it could escape.
> 
> (Also, this chapter is brought to you in part by the heat wave a week or two ago that kept me from sleeping for several days. Ugh.)


	4. A Rogue Spark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (pfft so much for that weekly update schedule, welp :P )
> 
> A lot of things happen in the next few chapters. If you haven’t buckled your seatbelts yet, now would be a good time: We’re going on a _feels trip~!_

In the following days, Dirk's careful to keep his wings tucked tight and turned away from you so that you can't get another look at the sorry state of their backs. You don’t press the issue. Instead, you ask if there are any other places nearby in the forest worth visiting, and after a brief hesitation he takes you to a river running down the mountainside. It’s probably the same one that Roxy told you about.

In any case, the river is a charming thing, and Dirk takes you to a point where it’s wide and shallow, just deep enough to come up to your knees when you toe off your shoes and wade in. The heat wave from the night you wandered to Jane’s tavern has mostly passed, now, but it’s still warm enough for the cold water to be refreshing. You’re sure the weather will turn soon, so close to autumn, but it’s certainly taking its time about it! You sigh happily and dig your toes into the silty dirt between the rocks.

“Enjoying yourself?” Dirk asks from behind you. You turn to watch him follow you in, wings held high so that they stay out of the water. Even now, he keeps them angled directly behind him so that there’s no chance of you seeing the backs.

You try not to think about it and grin, instead. “Absolutely! This is a right treat after trudging up and down that slope for the last couple of weeks. Do you often come out this way to let your hair down and relax a bit?”

He shrugs. “Most days. It’s good for washing up, and the water’s potable, so I’ll usually bring some back home with me. Just have to be careful to keep these dry,” he says, gesturing to his wings. “They get waterlogged, and let me tell you, that was not a fun discovery.”

“I can quite imagine.” You take another step without checking your footing and let out a startled yelp as your foot skids across the unexpectedly slick surface of a rock. Your arms flail out wildly, and you fall into the water with a huge splash.

By the time you struggle up into a sitting position, you’re already laughing and trying to shake drops of water off your glasses. “Well, that was a right boner!” you admit jovially and grin up at Dirk.

It looks like Dirk had moved to try and catch you as you fell, and now he’s staring down at you, eyes wide and mouth slightly open--although he wipes away his expression as you meet his eyes. He clears his throat and straightens, shuffling his wings behind him, and folds them tight to his back again. He must have forgotten why he’d had them lifted in the first place; the bottoms of his wings catch in the water.

“Shit!” he blurts as the weak current drags them deeper. He jerks them back into the air, and you can see that even that brief time was enough to leave the last foot or so of his feathers dripping wet.

You scramble to your feet while Dirk backs out of the river, and you follow him out, squeezing water out of your shirt and shorts as you go. “Are you alright?” you ask.

“I should be asking you that,” he mutters, face tinting pink. He’s _still_ careful to keep you from seeing the backs of his wings as he extends them, taking a closer look at the wet feathers at the end. “Yeah, I’m fine. Are you?” He gives you a quick once-over.

“Don’t worry about me; I’m just peachy!” Clothes as dry as you can get them for now, you watch curiously as Dirk brings one wing in close and absently starts running his claws down the wet feathers. He catches each feather in between his claws and strips the water off in small sheets, rearranging the barbs in neat rows as he goes.

After a few seconds, he looks up at you again and twitches. “The fuck, am I going to have to start charging for the show?” He tucks his wings behind him again, even though one is still dripping, and crosses his arms defensively.

“If you're the main attraction, then I'd happily pay the price for admission!” you tell him, grinning. His blush is sudden and dark, and you realize that your response perhaps came out more suggestive than you had really intended. “Er, that is to say--consarn it, you already know I’m curious about your wings, and the rest of you is plenty intriguing, too.” Wait, that’s not better. “Not the physical rest of you! Although if you ventured out every once in a while, I think you’d get more than your fair share of the ladies’ attention, especially if you continued to go about in the buff like that.” His mouth stays firmly closed, but his eyes are wide, and you think this is the closest you’ve seen him come to outright gaping at you. You groan and bury your face in your hands. Why is it so damned hard to just explain this without making it worlds of awkward? “It’s just that you’re so friggin’ mysterious about every damned thing! You’ve got this whole air of mystique around you that sort of draws a bloke in, you know? ...Cripes, I’m making a right hash of this.”

You’re blushing, too, now. He clears his throat. “Uh, yeah, kind of.” You can’t bring yourself to make eye contact with him, but you hear him shifting around. “That bit about luring you in, though? Sorry. You shouldn’t think of me as a mystery to solve. Trust me; there’s nothing good to find. In fact, it’s pretty shitty of me to have led you on even this far. We’d probably both be better off if you just forgot all about this and went back to your grandmother.”

You look up at that, and yep, he’s got that slightly hunched posture, eyes averted, that means he’s got it in his head again that he’s some kind of threat to you. You bury a spark of irritation that out of that whole mess of compliments (even if some of them came out a little stronger than intended) he somehow managed to find the one line that he could twist around. Instead, you roll your eyes and remind him, “I’m perfectly capable of making my own decisions, thank you! Besides, what kind of adventurer would I be if I didn’t see this out to the end?”

“A safer one,” he grumbles almost too quietly for you to hear. Then he sighs and meets your eyes again with a wry twist to his lips. “Well, if you’re not going to be dissuaded, and if it’s that interesting to you...I guess there's no harm in letting you, uh, enjoy the show, so to speak.” He looks away again, cheeks tinted pink, and spreads his wing to finish preening the water out.

Pleased, you settle in and ask him questions about his wing care while you watch. He still hedges and avoids talking about the circumstances that led him to have the wings in the first place, but he's gratifyingly open about what it's like to have them now. All in all, you're more than satisfied with the way you pass your afternoon.

* * *

Roxy has an invitation for you one morning as you eat at Jane's tavern. She tells you that your assistance has been enough for her to catch up on the backlog of repairs she’s been working on around town, and she asks if you’d like to help her in her workshop instead. You're curious about her inventions and happily agree while Jane smiles over the two of you and comments on how well you're getting along.

After breakfast, Roxy takes you back to her workshop. It’s a decent-sized shed set apart from the main house, and Roxy has filled it with scraps of machinery beyond what you’ve seen scattered around the house proper. The two of you spend a few hours there each day, occasionally broken by a request to repair something else around town.

She explains that she’s working on building better projectile weapons for the Midnight Crew to help them hunt bigger game, and you learn that the long metal cylinder you’ve seen in her living room is a design for what she’s calling a rifle. She’s come much further since making that prototype design, she tells you, and you have to agree that the pieces she’s currently working on look much more finalized. The idea is to cause a small explosion at one end of the metal tube that propels a smaller piece of metal out the other end of the tube, much like an arrow--only with, you know, more explosions.

It all seems rather outlandish and more than a bit dangerous to you, but danger and outlands are an adventurer’s favored fare! Still, you’re glad that Roxy seems happy to handle the actual explosives herself, leaving you to hold things for her or cut pieces of metal and wood to her specifications. You also note that she keeps several bottles of booze in easy reach while working, which strikes you as perhaps a poor choice, given the flammability of alcohol, but you’re confident that Roxy knows what she's doing.

You revise that opinion a little over the next few days when Roxy accidentally sets off a few minor explosions in her workshop, singeing her hair and clothes and once very nearly setting her notes aflame. You get very good at smothering fires. Even so, you have to appreciate Roxy’s brilliance (shaky fingers and all); even in the rudimentary stages, these weapons are more advanced than anything you’ve seen in your travels so far.

When Roxy puts together a complete, functional prototype less than a week later, you’re flabbergasted. It’s not even that ungainly; she can carry it around easily, unassisted, and you’re grinning along with her when she suggests testing it out. “There’s a spot not too far from Jane’s that we can use,” she tells you. “It’s wide open expect for--nope, except for--a couple’a trees that we can use for targets. Waddya say?” She props the rifle on her shoulder and strikes a pose, winking at you. She only wobbles a little. “Wanna give it a shot?”

“Absofrigginlutely!” you reply, grinning widely. “Forget the Furthest Ring; Skaia’s where all the adventuring’s at!”

Roxy laughs and leads you to the clearing she had in mind. It’s still early afternoon--a couple of hours after you ate lunch, but still well before the dinner crowd starts to come in--and the center of town is empty but for the two of you. You help her set up a safe firing range while she loads the rifle, and then you move out of the way as she swings it up and aims at a small copse of trees. Her finger twitches on the firing lever, touching the lit end of a small stick to the explosives in the rifle, and with a loud _crack!_ the metal projectile is suddenly buried in the splintered bark of one of the trees.

You and Roxy whoop in excitement and exhilaration. “You did it!” you tell her. “Gods above, that was fucking aces!”

“It worked!” she shouts. “Holy shit, it fuckin’ worked!”

“What in the _world_ is going on out here?” Jane’s voice calls out from behind you, and you turn to see her leaning out the door to her tavern. She’s blinking owlishly at the two of you, looking nothing if not discombobulated and startled.

Roxy bounds over to her. “It worked, Jane, holy fuck!” She grabs onto Jane’s shoulders with both hands (bringing the now-empty rifle along for the ride) and spins her around gleefully. “Oh man, Noir is gonna _flip his shit_ when he sees this, lol.”

“Roxy, what--is that the weapon you’ve been working on? Hang on, stop spinning me, just--” Jane pulls out of Roxy’s grasp and cuts herself off with a sneeze. As you approach, you see that she’s still blinking her eyes into focus, and you wince as you realize that you probably interrupted a nap. “Sorry, I was just resting my eyes for a minute, and that loud noise gave me quite the start, hoo hoo! Now come inside and tell me what happened.” She pauses and squints at the rifle. “Is that safe to bring inside?”

“Yep!” Roxy slips past Jane, still beaming, and you follow the girls in. Roxy takes a seat at the bar, and you and Jane flank her while Roxy fills Jane in on the details of the rifle. She finishes with, “So, I’m going to do a little more work on it before making another to give to the Diggintary for hunting, but now I know for sure that it _works!”_ she pats the rifle happily.

“Wow, Roxy, that’s really great!” Jane says. “I’m glad it all came together for you. I’m sure the Midnight Crew will appreciate the upgrade.”

“Thanks!” Roxy chirps. She looks Jane over and adds, “But for reals, Jane, you look frickin’ bushed. Sorry for interrupting your beauty sleep; do we need to get out of your hair? Say the word and poof, we’ll be out of here pickety-slit. Lickety-split. That one.” Roxy winks.

“No, it’s okay,” Jane tells her. She sighs and rests her head in her hand. “I’m just kind of tired. Things have been busy around town with the harvest coming up next month, and the Midnight Crew are planning to go on a longer hunting expedition along the edge of the woods, so I’ve had a lot to do getting things set up--and that's on top of all the things I have to do to keep the tavern running. It’s a lot of work for one person, you know?” Her eyes slip shut, and she looks exhausted.

“It sure sounds it,” you agree.

“Aw, that sucks,” Roxy adds, rubbing Jane's arm soothingly. “I’m sorry. But, hey! Once the harvest is done and we have everything ready for winter, things should calm down a bit, right? Just gotta make it through the next month or two. If anyone can do it, it’s you!” She smiles brightly, clearly trying to lift Jane's spirits. “You’re tough as nails, girl; you totes got this.”

Jane doesn’t react for a moment, but then her shoulders drop and she opens her eyes to smile back at you and Roxy. “Yeah, you’re right. Thanks, Roxy.” She gets up and goes around the bar to start setting up for dinner, it looks like.

As she does, Roxy addresses you, a sly smile slipping onto her face. “So, Jake, you seemed to like the rifle, right?”

“It’s amazing!” you tell her. “I think it’s just so flipping impressive that you designed and built such a fantastic contraption.”

Her smile widens. “So what would you say to having one of your own?”

You perk right up at that. “Thunder and lightning, Roxy, really? Are you sure?” You’ve got your throwing knives, sure, but they’ve got nothing on a weapon like Roxy’s rifle. You can only imagine how excited Grandma Jade would be to see one, if you brought one home with you at the end of all this.

...Come to think of it, Grandma Jade and Roxy would get along _great_. You’ll consider asking Roxy to come back with you when you return to Prospit, just to see what those two can come up with together.

Roxy interrupts your musings. “Well, sure! I bet a great adventururer like you would make great use of it. But there’s gonna be a price!” She leans forward, pink eyes intent on yours. “You gotta tell us where you go every afternoon.”

You freeze. “Er, what?”

Roxy flops dramatically against the bar. “C’mon, Jake, we’re dying! Jane and I have been trying to figure it out for a _week._ ” When you peek over, you see that Jane is also watching you from behind the bar. Roxy continues, “Jane says you told her some craaazy story about the demon that the Droll always talks about, but come on, what are you doing really? Give us the deets, Jake. Do it for the rifle.” She waggles her eyebrows at you.

You can’t tell them about Dirk. You promised him that you wouldn’t. (Even if you’re sure that his concerns are completely unfounded and that Roxy and Jane would get along great with him...argh, but you _promised._ ) With how agitated he was by the topic, you can’t imagine that Dirk would just stay put if he found out you’d broken your word about this. You _can’t_ lose contact with him now that you’re just starting to get through to him!

...On the other hand, they just asked about where you go. You don’t have to tell them anything about the winged man you visit while you’re there. Half-truths it is! You grin at Roxy, and it isn’t even forced. “I told you, I go on nature walks! Your woods have got a lot of charm.” Your grin widens. “Even if there are some mighty prickly patches.”

Roxy pouts, clearly unsatisfied, but Jane picks up the questioning. “You do spend a lot of time out there! How deep into the woods do you usually go, anyway?”

“Hmm, a few miles? It depends.”

In response, Jane nods thoughtfully. “You know, considering how much time you’ve been spending out there, you probably know that area of the woods better than even the Midnight Crew. After all, they haven't been out that far in almost a decade, but you're out there every day! You must be practically an expert.”

Your grin starts to fade. “Well, I wouldn’t go that far--”

She interrupts you. “And it sounds like you haven’t had any trouble with whatever it was that chased them out of the woods in the first place!” Her voice is cheerful, but your stomach is dropping as you realize that you may have stumbled into another problem.

“Er, well, no? I suppose I’m just lucky,” you say.

“Seems so!” Jane agrees, leaning on the bar. Next to you, Roxy has straightened and is glancing between the two of you with wide eyes. Jane continues, “But that’s good news, right, Jake? It means the forest is safe for the Midnight Crew to extend their hunting range again, especially with these new weapons! In fact, you brought back that fox your first day--maybe you’d even be interested in joining them? After all, you’ve been spending so much time out that way, anyway, I’m sure you’d be able to guide them around, hoo hoo!”

Your gaze flits between Jane and Roxy, and you start to twist your fingers together under the edge of the bar. Letting Jane send out the Midnight Crew would just as effectively kill any chances of getting Dirk to trust you more. “Well, I wouldn’t exactly call it _safe,_ ” you manage. “In fact, it’s downright treacherous out there! I think it’s for the best if only experienced adventurers like myself tackle that particular challenge--not to besmirch the Midnight Crew’s capabilities as hunters! But hunting and adventuring are entirely different animals. Besides, it sounds like the Midnight Crew has been able to do just fine sticking to the outskirts, right? No reason to fix what isn’t broken, my gran always says!” She definitely doesn’t say that, ever, but you think she’d forgive the fib under the circumstances.

Jane leans in further, and you can see a sort of manic determination in her reddened eyes. It’s probably just leftover from the nap you and Roxy woke her up from, but the overall effect is still rather unnerving. You gulp, and her eyes sharpen. “Or...maybe you haven’t been going that far into the woods at all, hmm? Is there anything you’d like to tell me, Jake, maybe come clean about something you claimed a couple of weeks ago?”

Your panic turns swiftly to irritation as you realize that Jane only jumped on this line of questioning because she wanted to try and prove that you’d lied about meeting Dirk that first day. “Now hold on just a flea-jumping tick!” you exclaim, feeling your eyebrows furrow.

Jane lets out a frustrated huff, but you think you’ve got rather more right to that at the moment, thank you very much! Before either of you can continue on this track, though, Roxy holds her hands up between the two of you. “Hooookay,” she says, looking back and forth with wide eyes. “Let’s just bring it back a little, yeah? Holy shit. Was not expecting that. You guys cool?”

You were ready to protest Jane’s accusations (although you hadn’t quite figured out how you would do so without revealing Dirk’s existence), but at Roxy’s interjection you deflate. It still chafes, that Jane would think such a thing of you, but...you suppose you _are_ lying to them, at least by omission. You and Jane both nod at Roxy without meeting each other’s eyes.

“Cool.” Roxy looks to you and bites her lip for a moment before breaking into a grin that toes the line of devious. “‘Kay, so we’re just gonna drop that original offer, bump it right off the table, and pretend it never happened. Here’s a new offer! You can have the rifle, _if_ you go on a date with Jane.”

 _“Roxy!”_ Jane gasps while you blink between the two of them. She turns to you. “Jake, don’t listen to her; you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

Roxy lets out a gusty sigh and rolls her eyes. “ _Siiiigh._ Okay, okay, fine, party poppers. Here’s my final offer, Jake: Agree to stay in Skaia through the winter, and the rifle is yours.”

“Oh!” You’re a little thrown by the rapid shifts, honestly, and you rest your chin on your hand as you consider the latest set of terms. “I suppose that would be fine, as long as I send word back to my Gran,” you muse, “but that’s still a mighty long stretch of time.” Wait. “Hold your horses a second; why are _you_ bribing _me_ to stay in town? Aren’t I the one working for you to pay for my room and board?”

“Well, yeah, and you're gonna keep doing that, lol,” she tells you. “Think of this as, like, investment. The longer you stay, the more work I get out of you.” She winks.

“Hm.” That is a pretty long time for an adventurer to stay in one place. (A true adventurer's home is the open road!) On the other hand, you like Skaia, and Dirk’s nothing if not a hard nut to crack, so you might end up staying here that long, anyway... “I'll have to put some consideration into this dilemma,” you tell Roxy.

“Well, it'll prolly take me a few weeks to make all these rifles, and I def want one for myself, so I guess you've got until I get to yours to decide.” She smiles at you before turning a stern expression on you and Jane. “Alright, I gotta take a leak. You guys aren't gonna go all teeth and claws out at each other as soon as I leave, are you?”

Jane rolls her eyes. “Just go, Roxy. We'll be fine.”

“Okay, but if I come back to find this place flattened, y’all are in a world of trouble.” With a cheeky grin, Roxy leaves, and the tavern falls into an awkward silence.

Jane coughs, looking away, and fiddles with a tuft of hair just behind her ear. “You should really consider taking her up on her offer,” she says. “Roxy and I are both more than happy to have you, and you’ve made a good enough impression on the other townspeople that you’ve met. If you wanted, you could stay here for a while longer, maybe even past winter. I’d...actually quite like it, if you did.”

You look down at the bar. “I’ll have to consider it,” you say again.

The silence stretches on again, and after a moment she lets out a sigh. “I’m sorry if I came across as too accusatory, earlier. I’m, well, a little tired to be honest, and I might have taken that investigation schtick a little too far.”

You decide to let it go, and you offer her a smile. “Roxy _did_ mention a while back that you’re also Skaia’s sheriff on an as-needed basis; I suppose I should have expected something like this.”

“Hoo hoo!” Jane giggles. “Admittedly, it’s not something I need to do very often, but I do keep my skills sharp!” She smiles as she turns from you. “Anyway, think it over. I’m going to get dinner started.”

She disappears into the kitchen, and you let the smile fall from your face as you sag against the bar. That was not a conversation you’d expected to have, and you can still feel a trace of adrenaline from your fear that you’d accidentally give Dirk away. Although, by Hermes’s teeth, you wish you didn’t have to keep these secrets. You still think it would be fine if Dirk were to meet Jane or Roxy! But...with how long it took for him to even talk to you, let alone start to trust you, you know that he would disappear at the first sign of anyone else. And now there’s all this hullabaloo with Jane.

Urgh. Why does everything have to be so _complicated?_

* * *

It starts raining one evening while you and Roxy eat dinner at Jane's, and it doesn’t let up. The sudden influx of water causes a few problems around town, and Jane passes on a list of repair requests to Roxy at breakfast the next morning. The rest of the day brings even more rainfall and muddy paths; it's enough to slow you down so that you and Roxy finish up later than usual.

“Ugh,” she groans as you trudge through the waterlogged roads. She lifts a lock of hair from where it's plastered against her face. “This is frickin’ misterbul. Miserable. Whatevs. Like, I get that the rain’s good for us and all, but could it maybe come a little more spaced out? I feel like I’m drowning.”

You...honestly kind of agree with her, but you've been through worse as an adventurer, and you tell her as much. “In fact, once my gran and I had to spend the night in a tree because it rained so hard the valley flooded!”

“Nooo thank you; I’m gonna give that a hard pass,” Roxy replies, grimacing. “At least it’ll be warm and dry at Jane’s. The whole town usually shows up on days like this. Keep your eyes peeled, though; with everyone in one place, Jane likes to practice her planks. Pranks.”

Roxy has told you before that Jane’s tavern is the unofficial town center, but you still wince at the thought of an entire town’s worth of people crammed into the space of the dining hall. You’d much rather visit Dirk. “Actually,” you say, “I think I’ll just head out on my nature walk now. I’ll be back before sundown, but don’t worry about waiting up for me.”

She stops walking and stares at you incredulously. “What the fuck, are you actually going to go hiking in this?” She gestures at the mud and rain.

“An adventurer isn’t afraid of a little water!” You shoot her two finger guns and a wink. “My gran and I have been through much worse; I’ll be fine.”

Roxy lets out a puff of breath and wipes her hair out of her eyes. “Well, if you’re sure. I think you’re out of your freakin’ mind for wanting to go out in this, but you do you, I guess. Be careful, though, yeah?”

“Always!” you reply, and the two of you split paths.

* * *

It occurs to you about an hour into your hike that there’s a good chance that Dirk won’t be there when you get to the clearing, considering what he’s told you about getting water in his wings, but you decide it’s worth the effort to at least look. Besides, you’re almost there, even if you’ve been questioning your decision to come out in spite of the weather for a good twenty minutes. The mud in Skaia was annoying, sure, but out here in the mountainous forest it's actually a little dangerous! Twice, you slip and nearly fall, and the rain is still washing streaks of mud down your legs when you finally pass through the treeline into the clearing.

To your surprise, Dirk is waiting for you on the ground, holding what looks like a fur pelt draped over his head and wings. He's always stayed in the trees until you arrived, before, but you suppose it would be difficult to climb through the branches while holding the pelt. When you call out his name in greeting, he looks up at you and nods.

“I wasn't sure you'd come,” he tells you when you get closer. The pelt blocks the worst of the rain, but it’s been soaked through and drips onto Dirk. Water slides down his bare body in rivulets.

You try not to notice anything below his collarbones as you grin at him. “It takes more than a little bit of rain to keep down an adventurer of my stature,” you inform him proudly.

He snorts. “Like warm weather?”

“Hey, now, that was an entirely different beast! Even adventurers need to sleep sometimes, and that heat was making itself a right nuisance.”

“If you say so,” Dirk replies, lips quirked in a tiny smile. It turns into a grimace a moment later as he shivers.

“Everything all right there, chum?” you ask.

The grimace evens out, and he nods. “The rain’s making it a little cold for me,” he says. “It's fine.”

You somewhat doubt that, considering he still hasn’t deigned to wear any coverings beyond the soaking wet pelt over his head. “Hells bells, let's get out of this deluge, shall we? You know these woods better than I do; is there a place nearby where we can take refuge from the storm?”

Dirk thinks about that one for a long time while you impatiently brush your wet hair out of your eyes. Not that it does much good for helping you see; keeping your glasses clear is basically a lost cause at this point. Haltingly, he finally says, “I...do know a place, yes. It'll be dry, at least.”

You wait for him to escort you there, and when he just continues standing silently you ask, “Well? I don't know where anything is around here; you'll have to lead the way.”

“Right. Sorry. Uh, yeah, follow me, I guess.” He shakes his head and turns to lead you away. You follow the blurry sight of the pelt draped over his wings and just focus on keeping your footing steady.

* * *

The shelter Dirk has in mind turns out to be a short walk from the clearing, although at first you don't even realize the rock formation is his destination. It's only when Dirk pushes aside a thick curtain of hanging vines to reveal a deep hollow behind that you see he's led you to a cave. The floor slopes up as you step into the interior, and as you get a look around you recognize it from Dirk's descriptions of his home.

Dirk doesn't look at you as you come in, instead setting the soaked pelt aside and busying himself with a raised stone pit a few feet past the mouth of the cave. “Hang on, let me just....” He puts a couple of sticks into the pit and blows on them for several seconds. They catch flame, and you realize he’s got banked coals in there. “There we go.”

As the fire gains strength and illuminates the interior of the cave, you look around and match everything to the description he gave you a week or so ago. Over there are the deep shelves he carved into the cave walls; there’s the bed of thatch and furs he wove together despite the way his talons caught on them; there’s the chest he took from the outskirts of the forest years ago, on his last scavenging trip before he settled more permanently in the forest; there are the wooden cabinets he built, edges still rough. It’s not the kind of comfortable house that you see in Skaia, but Dirk’s transformed this hollow of rock into a home all the same.

When you look back at Dirk, he’s standing between the fire and the entrance to the cave. Despite how he was holding the pelt over his head, his wings are so wet that they’re literally dripping a steady stream that trickles down the slope out of the cave. He also looks painfully tense as he watches you look around.

“Well, isn’t this just the cat’s meow!” you say. “You’ve really made a place for yourself here, huh?”

Dirk’s shoulders relax marginally, and he nods. Potential crisis averted (everything’s a friggin’ potential crisis with this man, honestly), you squirm out of your shirt and wring it out at the edge of the cave. It’s handy that the ground slopes outward, so you’re not making puddles in Dirk’s home. “Mind if I leave this by the fire to dry out?” you ask, gesturing with your still damp shirt.

Dirk blinks, and you catch his eyes twitching up from your chest to your face. “Uh, sure. Knock yourself out.” He shuffles to the side to give you space to lay out your shirt, and you take a seat by the fire to let it warm and dry you as well. “Total unconsciousness. Like you’ve got insomnia and the only solution is a rock to the head. ...Okay, that wasn’t my best. Just--make yourself comfortable because this might take a while.”

He picks up a dry fur pelt from a shelf just inside the cave and sits on his heels by the fire, wings partially spread to prevent them from dragging on the ground. Instead of preening the water out of each individual feather like he did that day at the river, he presses the fur to the fronts of his wings to dry them. You watch this for a few moments before clearing your throat. “You know, chap, you can use my shirt, if you want. It’s cotton; should absorb water a good sight more efficaciously than that.”

Dirk hesitates for a moment before nodding and switching the fur out for your shirt. You can see that it’s still a little damp, but even so it seems to work better than the pelt. He makes quick work of the front of his wings, occasionally twisting around to wring out the excess water closer to the mouth of the cave, but hesitates when it comes time to do the back of his wings. You remember that he can’t reach all the way over.

“How do you usually dry the backs?” you ask, breaking the silence that had settled over you.

“I usually don’t let them get this wet,” he retorts, wings rising slightly before they abruptly relax again. “Lying on my back over a few dry furs is uncomfortable as shit, but it usually gets the worst of the moisture out.” He gives your shirt, still held carefully in his claws, a critical look, and you snigger.

“I don’t think that’s got quite the surface area to cover the totality of your wings,” you tell him, shifting your weight forward. “Here, pass it over and I’ll have a go at patting the other side dry.” You smile winningly.

He goes utterly still as he meets your gaze across the fire. This close, you can see the flames reflecting in his eyes, another set of coals that have caught a whisper of air and ignited. You find yourself unconsciously holding your breath as you extend your arm around the side of the fire, hand open and waiting.

It’s a long moment before he turns his eyes to your hand and places the shirt in your palm, one side of his mouth twitching down. You beam and bounce to the other side of the fire so that you can reach his back. “Here, open your wings a bit more,” you request, placing one hand at the upper curve of his right wing. From this angle, you can see the muscles all down his spine tense for a moment before he lets out an audible hiss of breath and lets his wings fall wider. You hum approvingly and, careful not to put much pressure or to drag the cloth against the ragged, brittle-looking feathers, begin to blot away the water.

It takes some time, and you have to wring the shirt dry a few times, but after a few minutes Dirk begins to relax into the contact by fractions. “This is fuckin’ weird,” he comments, voice lower than usual.

“Oh?” You finish one wing and shuffle over to start on the other. Like the first one, it twitches at the first touch but stays still after that.

“Yeah.” You’re expecting him to elaborate on that, but he doesn’t, and you glance up at the back of his head. He’s let it fall forward just a tiny bit. It’s hardly noticeable, but you still consider it an accomplishment to get him to unwind even a little. You keep working and try not to think about how the barbs on the feathers are so ragged that sometimes you can’t even tell where one feather ends and another begins.

When you finish, it’s almost a shame to clear your throat and call his attention to it. The moment you do, his head twitches back to its upright position, and he twists to look at you over his shoulder. He watches as you wring your shirt one last time and put it by the fire to fully dry again before sitting yourself down beside it.

“Thanks,” Dirk tells you. He shuffles his wings back into their tight curl behind him.

You smile back at him and think of the sorry shape of the feathers he keeps hidden away. His wings are beautiful; it’s a tragedy for them to be in this condition. You think about how much you wish he’d just let you help him sort them out.

“Any time,” you tell him.

* * *

Of course, by the time you get back to town that evening, you’re once again soaked to the bone. You consider going straight to Roxy’s, but you know that if you get warm and dry you won’t want to leave again, and you definitely need dinner. It’s probably still very crowded, but you can just pop in long enough to eat and then leave. With a longing thought for Roxy’s warm baths and dry towels, you turn your feet towards Jane’s tavern.

The doors are closed and the lights inside dark when you get there, though, and your steps slow in confusion and concern. You see a couple of people huddled together under the overhang by the entrance, and you approach. “Excuse me, is the tavern closed?” Is that even possible, with Jane living there? Even when she left to help you carry Roxy home, the tavern stayed open.

The shorter one, a fellow with skin only a few shades lighter than Dirk’s hands, starts waving his hands at you in rapid patterns that you can’t decipher. You realize this is the Wandering Villein you’ve seen around a few times but never spoken to--in large part because you don’t understand sign language. A much paler woman standing next to him looks at you with teary eyes and tells you, “Jane fell ill several hours ago.”

Everything stops.

All you can think is a hollow negation. You’ve been through this too many times before. You never wanted to go through it again.

You stand frozen while the woman continues, “Ms. Paint has her in her care, now, but the sickness might spread, so she’s not allowed visitors. She told us to close the tavern as well in case it’s been blighted, and I volunteered to pass the message on as people come in for dinner.” She takes the Villein’s hand and clutches it in her own; the Villein holds her back just as tightly. “Jane will get better soon, though. She has to. Ms. Paint will take care of her.”

You thank them in a daze and turn to walk back to Roxy’s. You’re not hungry anymore.

Gods. _Jane._


	5. The Fortress That It Made of You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Fuck,_ this chapter fought me for every word, and it’s angsty as hell. Gotta have the hurt before we can have the comfort, though, right?
> 
> 11/18/17: Made some edits; mostly dialogue stuff. :)
> 
>  **Content warning** for non-graphic discussion of (and more graphic grieving for) past character deaths, as well as discussion of potential future deaths. Everyone who was alive at the start of the story will stay that way, but that doesn’t do much good for most of the Alpha Guardians. :/
> 
> (Chapter title from Florence + the Machine’s Queen of Peace, which was a fun music discovery and actually not that accurate to the chapter at all, but I liked it anyway: _And my love is no good / Against the fortress that it made of you / Blood is running deep / Sorrow that you keep_ )

Roxy’s living room reeks of the sharp bite of alcohol when you walk inside, and you find her sitting on the floor in the kitchen. She’s surrounded by bottles, a worrying number of which are already empty, and she has another loosely clasped in her hand. You stop at the threshold of the kitchen, and she weakly smiles up at you.

Her face is blotchy and tear-stained. You don’t need to ask if she’s heard.

“Hey, Jake,” she says. “You’re back! S’wonderin’ when you were gonna wander back.” She takes a long drink from the bottle. “C’mon, siddown, have a drink with me.”

You sit next to her, and when she offers you the bottle you take it. For once, you think maybe she’s got the right idea. You down a fifth of the bottle in one go and cough through the burn in your throat.

Roxy cracks open another bottle for herself. “Do you have any other family left, Jake? I know you talk about your grandma a lot, but is there anyone else?”

...Okay. You can understand not wanting to think too hard about what’s happening with Jane right now. You shake your head. “No, it’s just us.”

Roxy sighs and takes a drink. “Yeah, okay. I’m glad you have her, at least. She sounds nice.”

“She’s absolutely cracking,” you agree. “I think you would like each other.”

“IDK how you can stomach being away from her like this, though,” she says. “I think if my mom were still around I’d be p much attached to her consonantly. Don’t you worry that somethin’ll happen to her while you’re out adventuring?”

You look down at your drink. “...Sometimes. She didn’t exactly give me much choice, though. She’s been pushing me to start solo adventuring for years. Besides, she taught me everything I know, and she’s the best adventurer I’ve ever met! The Curse’ll have to catch her before it can give her so much as a cough, and  _ that’ll _ never happen.” Fingers shaking, you take a long gulp of alcohol.

Roxy laughs bitterly. “Sure. I didn’t expect anything to happen to Mom, either, you know. ‘Course, we didn’t have anything like the Curse around ‘fore that, but I still…. I shoulda done more with her.”

You fiddle with the neck of the bottle in your hands until Roxy sighs and takes another drink. “I ever tell you that you’re staying in her old room?” she asks.

“I don’t think so.”

“Yeah, I haven’t changed much; all the deckkrations are the same. She had good taste.” She looks down at her drink and twists the bottle between her hands. “I don’t think she ever believed me when I told her that. We had a weird relationship, you know? Like, I knew she loved me, but I think she just had a hard time espressing it. Maybe I didn’t say it enough, either. Or maybe I said it enough, but not the right way? I dunno.” She stops to guzzle down several gulps of alcohol. Her eyes are wet.

You grimace down at your own bottle. With what’s happening with Jane, you’re not sure this is the best conversation topic, but...you’re not going to tell her to stop, either. You raise the bottle to your lips and wash down your unease with a mouthful of alcohol. “I’m sure she knew,” you tell her.

“Yeah,” she sighs. “Maybe.”

You take another drink. The burn from the alcohol is working its way through you and warming the parts that have felt frozen and empty since you left Jane’s tavern. You maybe shouldn’t be drinking like this on an empty stomach, but Roxy’s certainly not going to criticize you for it, and you could use the buffer.

Roxy is silent for a long time. Then, “I wish we could just go back to how it used to be. Do you remember what it was like? Before the Curse?”   


You turn the bottle in your hands and let her talk.

“It’s been so long it almost feels like I’m jus’ making it up,” Roxy continues. “I was sixteen when it happened. I remember I was sitting with my mom, just out there.” She gestures to the patio with the hand holding the bottle. You watch the swish of the liquid inside.

“We were sitting on the patio. Mom was knitting. Did you know I can knit? She taught me. So she was knitting, I don’t know what. I guess it’s not important. We were just sitting together, and Mom started coughing. And it was weird, right? You remember how it was weird? ‘Cause, like, people just didn’t  _ get _ sick before the Curse, so we thought she had just swallowed wrong or something.”

You nod. You’ve heard this before. It was a common enough mistake for people to make. Disease, illness--these were  _ new _ when the Curse brought them. Humanity had been caught completely unawares when the affected began to collapse.

“And...well, you know what happens next.” Roxy’s voice is thick, and she clears her throat. “It took less than a week. One day she was fine--she was here and she was  _ fine _ \--and then she was gone, and I couldn’t understand why. We didn’t get news about Pandora and the Curse until almost two weeks after it hit, and by that time we’d already lost twelve people.” Roxy drains the last of her bottle and lets it fall to the ground beside her. Her fingers are shaking as she reaches for another.

You pat her shoulder. Her breath hitches, and she brings one wrist up to cover her eyes. “I’m sorry, Roxy,” you say. It’s wholly inadequate, you know, but...you don’t know what else to offer her.

She sniffles. “J-Janey was amazing, though. She, fuck. I was a mess, but she held me together, even when her Dad got sick and she had to take over for him, too. If she hadn’t made sure I ate, got me out of bed, found work for me...I probably would have just d-drunk my way back to my Mom.” Roxy’s outright sobbing, now, shoulders heaving with the force of it.  _ “Fuck. _ I c-can’t do this again. Not without Jane. Not if it’s Jane.” And she lets out a keening whine as she curls in on herself.

It hurts to watch. You set your bottle aside and lay your arm across her back, rubbing circles into her shoulder, and stare down at the floor while she cries. “She’ll be just peachy keen,” you tell her when her tears start to ebb. “She has to be. It’s Jane, right? She can do anything, you told me yourself.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. She’s gonna be fine. Jane’ll kick this sickness so hard it’ll go runnin’ back to its momma.” Roxy takes several long breaths, broken by juddering gasps as she comes down. “So, fuck the Curse, right? Like. Fuck it and fuck the horse’s ass it rode in on. It’s not fuckin’ fire. Fair.”

You’ll latch onto any hint of levity, right now. “Indeed! Pandora was a right boorish cur.”

Roxy snickers, though it’s a watery sound. “Couldn’t’a said it better myself.”

You take your arm back when she sits up straight and pick up your bottle again. You consider it, but you think you’ve had enough.

Roxy doesn’t seem to know what to say after that, and honestly neither do you. You sit in silence for a while longer until she finishes her bottle. She reaches for another, but you cut her off. “We should try to get some shuteye,” you say and pull her to her feet. You’re both a little unsteady, but you manage to keep your footing and brace Roxy.

She grumbles into your shirt as you help her to her room, but it turns into sighs and mumbles once she’s settled on the bed, and she passes out almost immediately. You shift her around so that she’s lying comfortably on her side and retreat to your room.

...Roxy’s mom’s room. It’s like there’s an extra presence giving weight to the usually innocuous purple knit decoration, and you’re unsettled as you get ready for bed. You’re very aware that you’re sharing space with the memory of someone who was important to Roxy. It’s a feeling you’ve experienced a few times over the years, traveling as you do through towns where the Curse has taken everything and left only desolate memories.

As you lie there, feeling your head swim with emotions and alcohol (you really probably shouldn’t have had that much on an empty stomach), you think of what life would be like without the Curse. You’ve been lucky, with your grandma. You try to imagine a world where people like Roxy and Jane and Dirk live out their lives with their families and never have to experience the things they’ve all lived through.

You’re still trying to picture it when you drift off to sleep.

* * *

The next few days are hard.

It takes five days for Ms. Paint to announce that Jane has made it through the worst of the sickness and can have visitors, and you don’t think that Roxy spends even an hour of that time sober. The first day is particularly difficult; you’re still nursing a hangover when Roxy comes out of her room, already sobbing, and goes straight for the bottles.

She doesn’t leave the house once in those five days. She barely eats when you put something in front of her. Other townspeople stop by to check on her occasionally, but for the most part it’s just the two of you, and you’re a little scared of leaving her alone like this for more than an hour at a time. A couple of people come by with mechanical emergencies, but Roxy’s in no state to handle those right now, so you do your best instead. Roxy could probably do better herself, but no one complains to you.

When the two of you get word that Ms. Paint is allowing people to visit Jane, you’re so relieved (for a plethora of reasons) that you have to lean against the wall for a second. Roxy knocks the breath out of you with a huge hug. “She’s gonna be okay! Oh, gods, she’s really gonna be okay. Thank Apollo.” She lets you go and runs a hand through her hair, fruitlessly trying to set it into order. “Shit, I gotta go see her. Are you coming?”

You decline. “She’s probably still knackered, and I wouldn’t want to be a bee in her bonnet! I’m sure she’ll want to see you first, anyway. I’ll have plenty of time to visit her when she’s feeling more chipper. Let her know that I’m overjoyed to hear she’s doing better and looking forward to seeing her around town again, though!”

Roxy hesitates for a second, and you think she might push the issue, but her excitement to see Jane has her shooting out the door a moment later.

And then you’re alone for the first time in almost a week.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath. When you exhale, you feel your shoulders fall from where they’ve been practically nudging your ears for the last day. You didn’t realize how tense you were until you could relax, but even now you can still feel the strain of a headache at the base of your skull.

With Roxy out of the house, you take advantage of the quiet to run a bath for yourself. It does wonders for you, even if you still feel like you could sleep for a week. You clean up the detritus that’s started to clutter Roxy’s kitchen and living room over the last few days and make lunch.

Jane’s going to be okay. You feel a little bit more of the tension drain out of you.

All of that relaxation evaporates the moment Roxy whirls back into the house an hour later, though. She’s grinning, and it’s a relief to see her smiling again, but she’s also chattering a mile a minute about how Jane is recovering and how thankful she is and how Jane’s going to have to take it easy for a while but of course Roxy can help her while she gets her feet back under her (it’s only fair with how much Jane has helped Roxy over the years lol) and Roxy heard from the Aimless Renegade that you had done a few repairs while she was out of commission and maybe you’d be interested in taking over repairs for a bit while Roxy helps Jane around the tavern and she just keeps talking and you’re honestly not sure if she’s even breathing in between sentences and  _ you need to get out of here or your head is going to explode. _

“Listen, Roxy, that all sounds capital,” you interrupt her to say, “but I’m feeling a mite bit cooped up, so if you’re feeling better, I think I might go out and stretch my legs for a bit.” You’re already moving towards the door.

Roxy falters, smile fading a little, and you’d feel bad about that if you weren’t already fully occupied with feeling horribly claustrophobic. “Oh. Um. I guess it has been a while since you’ve gone on one of your nature walks, huh? Alright. I’ll be here when you get back.”

“Sounds great, thanks!” you say, and with a wave of relief you’re outside. You don’t waste any time heading to the forest’s edge, but once you get out of town, you slow down to enjoy the walk. It’s good to be out and about again, and you bask in the fresh air and the sounds of nature as you follow your usual path out to the clearing.

* * *

You’re half expecting that after a few days’ absence, Dirk won’t be in the clearing when you get there, and you’ll have to find your way back to his cave. It comes as a surprise--to both of you, if his startled jerk is any indication--when you enter the clearing and see Dirk perched in one of his favored trees. “Dirk!” you greet him. “You’re certainly a sight for sore eyes.”

Dirk doesn’t come down. “You’re back.”

...You suppose it was too much to hope that you could just resume where you left off. You sigh. “Sorry about that unplanned sabbatical, chap; something came up in town, and this is the first chance I’ve had to get away. I hope I didn’t inconvenience you terribly much.”

“Inconvenience, nah. I’m more surprised to see you back out here again, to be honest. Figured you got what you came for last time and moved on.”

You blink. “Beg pardon?”

He drums his talons against the branch below him. “You finally got your wish to see my cave and got a good close look at my wings to boot. You tamed the beast and got past its defenses, mission accomplished, have a gold star. Except you’re back, so I guess you missed one of the achievements. What was it? Were you supposed to pluck a feather and take it with you as a trophy?”

That--! You set your jaw. “I suppose I should be grateful that you've moved on from thinking I harbor some sort of ill will against you, but I can't say I like these new aspersions any better.”

“Nah. I figured if you were out to  _ slay _ the beast, you’d have had the town at my cave days ago. Seeing how I was a fucking moron and led you there, and all. Fair's fair; it probably would have been the smart thing for you to do, considering how much you're risking every time you come out to see me. But apparently you still don’t believe me about that, which means it’s something else.”

“Devil fucking Dickens, it's not enough that I missed you and wanted to see you?” you demand.

He snorts and shakes his head. “Coming back out here today was a mistake,” he says to himself. “I’ve let this go on too long as it is.” He catches your eyes. “You need to go back to Skaia and stay away from here. Or better yet, go back to your grandmother and forget you ever came out this way.”

Oh, for--! You groan, scrubbing your hands through your hair. And you'd had such high hopes about spending some time with Dirk in the forest, too. “I thought we’d moved past this already. You’re not going to hurt me, I’m not going to hurt you, no one in Skaia even knows you’re here; can we just go back to being friends now, please?”

“Not very good friends if you up and disappear on me without a word of warning or explanation, bro,” he snips, talons tapping against his crossed arms. “So why the fuck did you leave me high and dry, then? What was the issue in town that was so important you couldn’t pop out here for the five damn minutes it would have taken to give me a heads up?”

You throw your hands up in frustration. “Aargh!” Enough of this. You were hoping you could come out here and  _ not think about the last few days _ for a couple of hours, but apparently his friggin birdiness can’t leave well enough alone, so: “Jane got sick.”

All the aggression immediately drains from his posture, and he goes pale. “Shit.  _ Shit. _ Did she…?”

You shake your head. “She’s pulling through. Ms. Paint got her through the worst of it; now she just needs rest while she recovers. But Roxy was in a bad way, and I couldn’t leave her alone like that.” You hug your arms over your stomach and look to the side.

He nods and finally comes down from his perch. “No, that’s--I understand. I’m glad your friend is okay. Fuck. I’m an asshole. Sorry.”

You let out a long sigh and wave it off. “It’s fine. But jingle fucking Christopher, I’m tired of thinking about this damn Curse. Can we just pretend it doesn’t exist for a few hours and talk about something,  _ anything _ else?”

He raises his eyebrows. “You wanted to get away from reminders of the Curse...and you chose to come to me?” He spreads his arms and wings, highlighting the abnormalities. “Seriously?”

“Yes, alright, I see your point, but it’s not the same with you.”

His lips thin at that as he pulls his wings in again and lets his arms fall. You puff out your cheeks in frustration. You don’t have the energy or patience to pick through all of Dirk’s trap lines and trigger wires after so many days of veritably drowning in Roxy’s emotions. “Can we just take it as understood that I want to be here and stop friggin  _ talking _ about it? Shit fucking biscuits, what’s a bloke got to do to get some friggin distractions?!”

Dirk jerks back with wide eyes. “I--okay. Sorry.”

You take a deep breath and slowly let it out. “Why don’t we, I don’t know, go to the river or your cave or something?”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay. Follow me.”

* * *

Instead of taking you to his cave again, Dirk leads you east towards the river. He jumps from branch to branch above you, and you bite back a snicker as you decide that--bird-like features aside--he reminds you more of a frog in the way that he pushes off with his legs and catches himself with his hands. The vertical distance between you two means that conversation is light as you travel.

Once you start to hear the hushed roar of the river, though, Dirk comes down and walks the rest of the way with you. “I wouldn’t recommend swimming in this part of the river,” he tells you, “but it’s a nice enough view.”

And indeed it is, you agree as you see where he’s led you. You’re farther upstream than before, and the mountainside is much steeper here, with uneven rocky ledges. The river courses down in a series of small waterfalls, and Dirk takes you to an outcropping about halfway up where you can sit and watch the mist rise. The rushing water is louder here, but not so much that you have to shout when you tell Dirk, “This is gorgeous!”

He smiles. “Glad you like it.” Sitting down involves some maneuvering for him, but he manages to find a position that lets him sit straight without dragging the tips of his wings against the damp rock.

You settle in to his left and watch the sun glitter off the hazy water droplets. Your grandma likes to remind you to enjoy these moments when you can find them. It’s one of the perks of adventuring you tend to forget about. Exploring and fighting off bad guys is all well and good, but every so often you also get to experience one of nature’s gems, and it wouldn’t do to let those opportunities pass you by. You breathe the crisp, damp air and take in the peaceful quiet, and you feel the jangly edges of your attention start to calm and center themselves.

So, when Dirk clears his throat and awkwardly taps his talons against the rock next to you, you close your eyes and hide a pained wince. “So, uh,” he says. “I'm sorry again for how I acted earlier. I kind of jumped down your throat and assumed the worst of you. Pretty uncool of me.”

“Don't worry about it, chap. It’s quite alright.”

He keeps talking. “Still. I shouldn't have gone off on you like that. I mean, shit, you've been nothing but accommodating since we met. Those accusations were totally unjustified. I wouldn't blame you if you were upset at me for just...throwing them at you like that. Especially when you've just spent the last few days worrying about your friends, fuck. Talk about dick moves.”

You try again. “Dirk, it's alright. I'm just pleased as peaches to be out here again.”

No dice; he just nods and keeps going like you didn't say anything. You bite back a frustrated groan and try not to snap at him as he rambles. “I wish I could say I didn't know what came over me, but, uh, yeah. This is pretty much my typical bullshit. Shit like this is probably going to keep happening. Sorry. It's not that I really believe those things about you--you know that, right? I just get stressed about things, and honestly I still don't understand why you seem to like spending time with me. It really would be better for everyone if you stayed away entirely.”

The click of his claws against the rock gets louder as he gets more agitated, and you finally put your hand over his to still them. 

It’s even more effective than you’d hoped; he goes completely still, and the only sound he makes is the barely-audible noise as he swallows. “Dirk. It’s alright,” you say again. Your fingers slip between his, and you can’t quite resist the urge to smooth your thumb over the scaled texture of his hand.

He swallows again, and you can feel his eyes on you. Slowly, like he’s afraid he’ll hurt you if he moves too quickly, he curls his fingers against yours in return.

You grin and scoot closer until your shoulders knock together. His wing rustles behind you, and you tilt over to lean your head against his shoulder. He’s warm under your temple. You watch the waterfalls with lidded eyes as the tension slowly drains out of you. It was soothing before to sit alongside Dirk and take in the scenery. This is even better.

A minute passes before Dirk’s hand twitches against yours, and you feel his throat work. “Are we, uh. Is this...what is this, exactly?”

“Nice. It’s nice.”

“...Okay, but I was thinking more in specific terms. Or preferably contextual terms, if those are on the table.”

You turn your head to the side and press your lips to his shoulder. His fingers spasm against yours, but he doesn’t pull away. You think that’s clear enough, and you glance up at him to gauge his reaction.

He’s blushing halfway down his chest, and that actually explains a little about why his shoulder feels so warm even with the lack of clothing. You can see the bewildered questions forming on his expression before he even opens his mouth, though, and you let out an exasperated huff. “I like you,” you tell him, “and I like this. Can we just sit and friggin enjoy it already, without vivisecting it to within an inch of its life?”

He blinks and looks at your hands. “Yeah.” His voice is quiet, a little rough. “Yeah, okay.”

You rest your head against his shoulder again and let your joined hands fall back to your thigh. After a few seconds, his wing shifts behind you, and you feel feathers against your left arm when he drapes it across your shoulders. You smile.

He manages a few minutes without saying anything this time, but you quickly forgive him for breaking the silence when you realize his intent. “Is it okay if I…?” he asks, and you feel his talons brushing against your hairline.

You hum and nod against his shoulder, and he cautiously runs his fingers through your hair. The tips of his talons scritch gently and so carefully against your scalp, and you melt against him. There’s no other word for it.

It goes on for a while, and you can tell when he starts to gain confidence because the touch gets firmer, and he starts to shift your hair around as he goes. You can feel all the stress and tension from the last few days bleeding out of you. You sigh, letting your weight slump into him. If he’s not complaining, you’re more than content to let him continue.

And he does.

* * *

Jane is released from Ms. Paint’s care two days later with strict orders to take it easy for the next couple of weeks, and Roxy volunteers to help around the tavern while Jane finishes recovering. She convinces you to take over her more routine repair work, and honestly it’s kind of enjoyable. It’s comfortable to lose yourself in the machinery for a while.

When you head to the tavern for lunch on that first day, it’s unexpectedly empty. Then again, you wouldn’t be surprised if the townsfolk were keeping their distance to give Jane space to recover. You find Jane calling instructions to Roxy from a seat by the bar. She looks more tired than you’ve seen her yet, and she’s noticeably lost weight, but her voice is plenty strong as she tells Roxy, “No, that’s the soap I use on the floor. The one to the left is the soap for dishes and glasses.”

“Sorry!” Roxy calls back as she corrects herself. “This is more complicated than it looks.”

“Hoo hoo, I’m aware,” Jane replies. She notices you and visibly brightens. “Jake! Come in; it’s good to see you.”

“Not as much of a jubilee as it is to see you!” You lean down to give her a hug. “Crikey, but we were worried about you. Should have known better than to doubt for a second that you would kick the Curse’s keister, though. You sure showed it what for!” You wink.

Jane giggles. “It was definitely an experience. Here, sit down; I’ll whip something up for you.”

“No, you won’t!” Roxy sing-songs at her. “You stay right where you are, and  _ I’ll _ whip something up for him. Hi, Jake; how do you feel about sandwiches?”

“Sounds scrumptious, thank you!” You sit on the stool next to Jane while Roxy gathers ingredients. “So how are you feeling?”

“Honestly? I’m tired of being tired.” She watches Roxy work for a few seconds. “I hate that I’m just sitting here when there’s so much I need to do.”

Roxy looks over her shoulder. “You’d better get used to it, because that’s all you’re gonna be doing for at least the next few days! I totes got you covered.”

“I suppose.” Jane chews on her lip. “Shoot, I never thought I’d be one for shirking my responsibilities.”

“Hogswash,” you say. “You’re not shirking a thing! If anything, your responsibilities right now are to get better.”

She hums uncertainly. “It still doesn’t feel right, though. I don’t think my dad ever had to take weeks off like this and ask other people to do his job for him.”

Roxy stops working and turns to look at Jane. “Janey,” she says, tone soft and careful. “Your dad never had to deal with the Curse. And when he did...he died.”

“I know that,” Jane replies quickly. “But before that, he really had a handle on things, hoo hoo! He was--he was really great, wasn’t he?”

“He was,” Roxy agrees, watching Jane closely. You see Jane’s mouth wobble before she bites her lip. “I think even he would have had a hard time with everything that’s happened, though.”

You stay quiet. You kind of wish you could unobtrusively remove yourself and leave them to this conversation--it isn’t really your place to be involved--but there’s no way to do that without making a scene.

Jane blinks rapidly. There’s a sheen in her eyes, and her voice cracks when she says, “I just want to be the kind of person he would be proud of.”

“Oh, Jane, no,” Roxy says, rushing around the bar and gathering Jane up in a hug. “You are. I promise, you already are.” Jane starts to cry. “Shh, shh, it’s okay. Have you been worried about this all this time? Jane, you doofus, you’re the strongest and most impressive person I know. There’s no way he wouldn’t be proud of you.”

You awkwardly reach out and pat Jane’s shoulder. You’re really not sure that you should be here for this, but they’re not sending you away, and you don’t know how to extricate yourself, so. “I have to concur with Roxy,” you tell her. “What you’ve accomplished here is truly astounding!”

She cries harder. Roxy holds her through it and soothes her with praise and quiet murmurs while you offer the occasional pat and agreement. Eventually, the sobs start to die down, and Jane just leans into Roxy’s chest.

“Feeling better?” Roxy asks. Jane sniffles and nods. “Good. Don’t think that shit anymore, okay?”

“I’ll try not to.”

“‘Kay.” Roxy squeezes her tight one last time. “I’m gonna let you go and get back to work, then; the tavern won’t take care of itself. Besides, I’m pretty sure poor Jake over here has been waiting way too long for his food. That’s some terrible customer service; we can’t have that associated with your tavern, right, Jane?” She winks.

Jane laughs and wipes her eyes as she leans back. Roxy lets her go and looks her over. Apparently satisfied with what she finds, she finishes up your sandwich and hands it over.

“Thanks,” you tell her. It’s not as good as when Jane makes them, but…. You look over at Jane. Her face is streaked from tears, and she still looks utterly exhausted, but there’s a weight missing from her shoulders that you hadn’t even known was there.

You smile and take another bite. It’s not as good as Jane’s, but that’s quite alright.

* * *

Roxy starts to come back later and later every night, and with every day she looks more exhausted. You’ve been handling most of the repair work around town for her, but it seems like just Jane’s itinerary is enough to drive her into the ground. After a week of this, Ms. Paint determines that Jane is recovered enough to pick up her work again, and you can tell that everyone is relieved.

That night, when Roxy comes in, you meet her tired smile with a grin. After your usual greetings, you comment, “I’m sure you’re looking forward to going back to your repair work, now that Jane’s back in business.”

Roxy bites her lip. “‘Bout that,” she says. “D’you think you could keep doing repairs for at least a while longer? I overheard Ms. Paint talking to Jane about going back to work, and she made it sound like part of the reason Jane got sick and collapsed like that is because of how much she was working.” She rubs her arm. “I know I’m probably not the best person to help her out, but, I mean, aside from the repairs it’s not like I do anything really important around town.” She laughs, a little bitterly, but regains her cheer almost immediately. “And at least while you’re here, you can fix things, and I can help Jane with the tavern. Every little bit helps, right?”

“That’s right neighborly of you!” you say. “I’m sure she’ll appreciate the help.”

“Haha, thanks.” She smiles. “So you’ll keep handling repairs?”

You hesitate, but you decide to agree. You and Roxy exchange a few more pleasantries before taking leave of each other and heading to bed.

You’re not sure you like how Skaia seems to be drawing you in--it feels a bit like you’re being coaxed into a trap as the snare draws shut. On the other hand, there’s nothing really preventing you from picking up and leaving, should you choose to do so, and you’re still plenty interested in spending more time with Dirk. It’s easier, really, to just go along with this. 

When the itch to continue your adventures gets to be too much, you’ll still be able to follow it out into the open road again. For now, though, you’re still interested in the people of Skaia--and you’re  _ very _ interested in getting to know Dirk.

(You push away the thought of how Dirk will react when you finally decide it’s time to move on. You can figure that out when you get there--no need to borrow trouble.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was supposed to be preening in this chapter, but most of the DirkJake interactions got pushed back to chapter 6. :( To make up for it, the next chapter is focused almost entirely on those two, and it’s a Good Chapter that I am very hyped about. :) Also, it’s already about halfway done??? And it’s going a hell of a lot smoother than this one did, lol, so I’m hoping to have that up sooner rather than later. :D


	6. We Found Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So I heard that when you reach level six, you unlock Dirk’s backstory…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve been so looking forward to this chapter. Thank you for sticking it out through 30k of buildup; I hope the payoff is worth the investment! Mind the mood swings, though--it’s kind of a rollercoaster. ^_^
> 
> (Chapter title from Ed Sheeran’s Thinking Out Loud: _Maybe we found love right where we are_ <3)

Things with Dirk even out a little bit, now that you’re officially in some kind of relationship.

(Dirk was very clearly unsatisfied with such a vague label, but you were still exhausted and reeling from everything that happened with Jane when he tried to rope you into a discussion to specify the whats and wherefores of your relationship. You successfully got him to stop pressing the issue and settle for “in a relationship,” and now that you have enough energy back that you  _ could _ handle having that discussion with him...honestly, you’d rather not open that can of worms, so you don’t bring it up. But you’ve established that you’re dating, and you think that’s plenty go off from.)

In any case, Dirk is more open with you now, and he’s slowly getting comfortable with physical affection, though he still hesitates to initiate it and tends to end it before it gets very far. You’ll admit it’s a frustrating source of tension, especially now that you can look at his naked body with something approaching  _ intent. _ But it’s been two weeks, and you still haven’t managed more than a handful of chaste kisses before he awkwardly pulls away.

It’s like he’s wary of overstepping, despite how blatantly interested you are--and that’s the thing, isn’t it? Because he’s still dead certain that you’re going to end up hurting each other somehow. It’s gotten to the point where he brings it up at least once every time you see him, and you’re bloody fucking tired of repeating the same reassurances at him over and over and  _ over _ . It would be enough to drive a bloke mad, except you can see how he’s putting in serious, genuine effort to at least  _ try _ to let you in, despite what reservations he might have.

Still. You’ve been grateful for the distance between your room and Roxy’s as you let off a little steam at night.

Today seems like it’s going to go much the same, at first. You and Dirk are sharing an afternoon snack of roasted hare in his cave (freshly caught, and cooked over Dirk’s fire), and you notice that he’s fidgeting his wings like he can’t get comfortable.

When you ask him about it, he shrugs and doesn’t meet your eye. “My wing itches; I probably knocked a few feathers the wrong way again. It’ll fade eventually.”

And if that isn’t the saddest thing, that he doesn’t even consider asking you for help when you've freely offered it before. You set your food aside and wipe your fingers clean on your shirt as you walk over. “Where does it itch? I’m sure I can set it straight.”

You can see him hesitate as he wars with the part of him that urges him to pull away, but the desire for comfort wins out, and he nods. That's been happening a lot lately. It’s gratifying.

Dirk extends his right wing and directs you to a patch near the base where a couple of the smaller feathers have been mussed to point almost straight up. Very careful not to tug too hard or to nudge the adjacent tangles of feathers and barbs, you work your fingertips in and separate the feathers before guiding them to lie neatly. It requires you to comb out a couple of loose feathers that had been trapped against the skin of the wing, but you take the opportunity to gently scratch at the skin below to relieve Dirk's itch.

The end result is a small section of tamed feathers against the wild, tangled backdrop of the rest of the wing. You look at the other feathers and swallow, fingers twitching with the desire to set them right, too. “Feel better?” you ask.

“Yeah, thanks.” Dirk shuffles his wings and starts to pull them back in, but you rest your hand on the upper curve of one, and he pauses.

You clear your throat. “You know, I could straighten up the rest of them, too.” Gently, you run your thumb over the top layer of feathers, and you hold your breath as you wait for Dirk's response.

It's a long time coming, but you find hope in the fact that he doesn't just shut you down outright like he did before. At last, he lets out a long sigh and says, “Yeah, alright.”

You beam. “Cracking! Settle in and don't worry yourself a tick. We'll have you right as rain in no time, just you wait.”

Dirk spreads his wings again and braces his hands on his thighs while you get to it. You spend a few minutes trying to untangle a few feathers whose barbs have matted together into a single clump, and you wince at every one of Dirk’s flinches when you accidentally pull too hard.

Eventually, you have to concede that this isn’t working. “Maybe if we run warm water over them, it’ll be easier to separate everything out,” you say. “Do you have supplies for that here?”

He does. At your prompting, Dirk takes a waterskin from one of his cabinets and empties it into a stone bowl, which you heat over the coals. The use of water means that you have to relocate to the space between the fire and the entrance so that you don't leave puddles in the cave, and it reminds you of that day when it rained. You grin at the back of Dirk's head.  _ Finally _ you can do something about the state of his wings, like you’ve been longing for weeks.

Once the water is warmed to a comfortable heat, you tip the bowl over Dirk's wing and pour the water in a steady stream over the matted feathers. Dirk twitches at the first drops but relaxes as it goes on. It takes a couple of bowls’ worth of water before the clump loosens enough for you to work the individual feathers free, and you move on to the next spot. You end up using a good portion of Dirk’s stored water to work out the worst of the matting across his wings, but when you tell him that later you’ll help him carry water back from the river to replenish, he offers only a lazy hum in reply. Your smile softens.

Now that you can separate each feather, you carefully work your way out from the base of his wing to the tip. Many of the feathers are still coated with dirt and grit. For those, you dip your fingers in the warm water and comb through them until they come out soft and clean. As you work, old molted feathers that got caught in the unkempt tangle finally come free and fall to the stone around you. You ignore them and work each feather through your fingers until it rests neatly against its neighbors.

The warmth and the flickering light from the fire lend this moment a sense of meditative tranquility, and you begin to lose yourself in the repetitive brush of soft feathers against your fingertips. You don’t pause when you get to the tip of Dirk’s right wing; you just shuffle over the thin carpet of feathers that’s collected around you and wordlessly start again on the left.

Dirk doesn’t even twitch at the change. His shoulders shift gently with his steady breaths, and you find your own breathing slowing to match. You lose track of time for a while, so it come as a surprise when you run out of feathers. You blink back to yourself and look over your work.

They're not pristine, but...crikey. The difference is startling, seen all at once like this. There are still feathers here and there that look patchy or brittle, but overall, they sit neatly in smooth lines down the length of Dirk's wings. You run a hand through the feathers near the base of his wing and smile.

You did this.

Your smile only widens when you get a good look at the rest of Dirk. His shoulders slump forward, and even his wings droop more than they usually do, lacking the tension he seems to constantly carry in them. At some point, he relaxed enough to let his head fall forward, and it hangs loosely over his chest, exposing the knobbly bumps of his spine until they're obscured by strands of his pale hair. You twist to the side enough to see his face. 

His eyes are closed, lips lax around his deep, steady breaths. It’s the most vulnerable and relaxed he’s ever let himself be around you.

Your smile slips and fades, and the hand you still have resting on Dirk's wing presses a little firmer. You've always found him striking, but like this, with his limbs loose as he finally lets you in, lets you take care of him….

He's something precious, and you're struck with the need to hold him safe. To guard this treasure you've unexpectedly found cradled in your hands.

You swallow, a little overwhelmed if you're being honest, and lean in to press your lips to the nape of his neck.

A visible shiver races down the length of Dirk’s body, his wings flexing to either side of you, and you close your eyes against a rush of tender heat. “Jake,” Dirk says, voice breathy, and you shudder as something inside you catches fire.

Gods, you want this man. You suck in an unsteady breath and brace your other hand against Dirk’s waist as you lean in further, pressing kisses across the side of his throat to the hinge of his jaw. Dirk tilts his head back as you go, and you feel one of his hands come to rest over yours as it slides down to his hip. Freshly preened feathers brush against your bare arms, and it’s a far cry from the rough, ragged mess it was before.

You groan and shift to catch his mouth with your own. He turns his head to meet you, lips still parted, and you suck the bottom one in. He shivers again, and you press the hand on his hip farther around to rub over the delicate skin below his navel.

“Fuck, Jake,” he gasps, arching into you. His talons prick the back of your hand as he clutches it, and his other hand curls backwards over his shoulder to cup the back of your head as you kiss. You can feel the tips of his talons carefully running over your scalp.

You shudder. “Yeah, like that.” You’re pressed flush against him, and you love Dirk’s wings, you do, but they’re seriously getting in your way right now. Your chest is pressed against one wing, but when he tries to tuck it in and turn to face you, it comes up too high and knocks against your shoulder. The shock of it sends you snickering, and you can feel Dirk’s skin heat up as he blushes.

“Shit, sorry,” he says. “Let me just…”

He pulls away, and your hand drags across the side of his hip as he goes. You lean back to give him space to maneuver his wings, and you’re rewarded with the sight of him flushed and half hard as he shifts on his knees to face you. “Holy mackerel, but I’m a lucky fellow,” you marvel.

“You say the weirdest fucking things,” he replies, shaking his head, but then he’s back in your arms, practically in your lap, and you don’t care.

You lose yourself for a while in the feeling of his body against yours and the prick of his talons against your shoulders where he grips them lightly. You slide one hand into his hair and use it to angle your mouths together while your other maps the ridges of his ribs and the line of his waist down to his hip. He leans into you, and you pull him in tight. “Cringle fucking crackers, Dirk, you’re so good,” you groan into his mouth.

Without warning, Dirk suddenly goes still and uses his hold on your shoulders to push you back a little. You let him, and he meets your gaze with wide eyes. “I’m not--I’m not. Fuck, we can’t do this.”

“What?” You’ve still got a hand in his hair and another on his hip. His lips are red, and shit on a shingle but you want to bite them.

“We can’t do this, Jake. Shit, I don’t know what I was thinking, fuck.” Dirk pulls away from you completely and runs a hand through his very mussed hair as he gets to his feet. “Sorry.”

The space in front of you is too empty. You bring your arms in and hold your elbows. “I don’t understand.”

He shakes his head and doesn’t respond, instead moving to put away the bowl that you used for water and banking the coals again. You’re left kneeling in the scattered feathers as you watch him.

After a few moments, he clears his throat. Without looking at you directly, he says, “Thanks for the help with my wings. It, uh. It was nice.”

You stare at him and watch a blush climb up his cheeks to the tips of his ears. You still don’t understand why he pulled away like that, but you don’t think you’re going to get an answer, either. “...Anytime.”

He nods and changes the subject. You let him, and you watch the flush slowly fade from him as you turn to less heated topics.

You tuck one of the loose feathers into your pocket when you stand.

* * *

You’re used to beating Roxy back home in the evenings, now that she’s spending so much time helping Jane, so you’re surprised to see her sitting outside the front of the house one day when you get back from the forest. She’s got a couple of long needles in her hands and a ball of yarn in her lap, and with shaking fingers she’s turning it into...well, you’re not really sure, but it’s definitely something.

She looks up and smiles when you come closer. “Hey, Jake.”

“You’re knitting!” you say. “You mentioned that you could, but I’ve never seen you do it.”

She laughs. It’s a little shaky. “Yeah, well, it’s been a while. I figured it was time to give it another go. ‘Sides, it gives me something to do so I don’t bother Jane. She’s inside, doin’ me a favor.”

You blink and lean so that you can see past her through the open door. The angle’s awkward, but that’s definitely Jane in the kitchen. She’s got a large bag with her, and she’s...oh.

You clear your throat and look back at Roxy. “Turning over a new leaf?”

She nods. “Couldn’t quite bring myself to throw ‘em out, but Jane said she could serve them in the tavern, so she’s buying them off me. We decided that I’ll handle the tables, and she’ll work the bar from now on.”

“Well. That’s great, Roxy!” And it is. You lower yourself down to sit next to her and nudge her shoulder with your own. “I’m sure you’ll be a lot happier.”

She chuckles and rubs her forehead. “I sure hope so.” She lets out a shaky sigh and goes back to knitting. “Hey, um, I’m pretty behind on the rifles with everything that happened with Jane and all, but...have you put any more thought into my offer?”

You hide a grimace. You’ve been trying not to think too hard about having to make a decision to stay or leave, either way. “I’m still pondering, I’m afraid.”

Roxy laughs. There’s a hint of an edge to it. “Well, if you’re so deterred--determined--to head out before winter that even a rifle won’t convince you, then I’m out of ideas.”

Oof. You’re not really sure how to approach that one. “For what it’s worth, those rifles of yours are real humdingers!” you offer. “I’ve never seen anything like them, and I’m quite dazzled. My grandma would like them, too, I’d bet.” And old thought comes back to you, and you perk up. “Hey, why don’t you come with me, when I go back to Prospit? I’d love to introduce you to Grandma Jade. I can only imagine what hijinks you two would get up to.” And this way, you wouldn’t have to leave everyone behind when you eventually leave. It’s a perfect solution!

Except, judging by Roxy’s expression, she doesn’t think so. “Hmm. I dunno, Jake. I mean, I’m flattered and all that you want to take me with you, but what would I really even do outside of Skaia? This is my home; I can’t just leave it. I’m not a wanderer like you. Besides, Jane’s just starting to get her feet back under her, and holy crap, I had no idea how much work she does every day. I can’t just leave her to go back to that again.”

“That’s alright; Jane could come, too! It would be grand, don’t you think?” You grin, enthused by the idea.

Roxy just laughs, though. “Buddy, if you think you’re gonna convince Jane to leave this town, I dunno what to tell ya. There’s no way she’d up and abandon everyone here.” She pats your shoulder. “I mean, thanks for the offer and all, but really, I’m happy where I am.”

You consider Jane’s determination to take care of the people of Skaia, and you deflate. Roxy’s right, and if it’s got to be both or neither.... “Well, alright. But if you ever change your mind, you’re both welcome. My grandma would love to meet you two.”

“Haha, thanks.” Roxy goes back to her knitting, and you wait with her until Jane comes out with a large bag slung over her shoulder. It clinks as the bottles of alcohol inside knock together. You see Roxy wince, and her fingers shake harder around her knitting needles, but she smiles up at Jane. “Got everything?”

“I do!” Jane beams back as you and Roxy stand up. “This saved me a lot of work restocking, in fact, so thank you.”

“Yeah, no probs.” Roxy replies, voice a little subdued.

Jane looks Roxy over and sets the bag down before pulling her into a tight hug. “I’m really proud of you,” she says.

“As am I!” you pitch in. “You’re really kicking the habit and giving it the old one-two knockout.”

Roxy giggles into Jane’s shoulder and pulls back. “Thanks, guys. I ‘preciate it.”

“Of course. Now, chin up, buster! We’ll get you whipped into shape in no time,” Jane chirps. She winks as she picks up the bag again, and you and Roxy wave her off.

Roxy sags as soon as Jane is out of sight, but she catches herself a moment later. “Damn,” she says as you turn to go inside. “Okay. We’re doing this.”

“We’re making this transpire?”

“Hell yes we are.” She grins at you, and it’s perhaps a little manic. “Get ready to meet the new, sober Roxy. We’re talkin’ totally serious and stoic, not a single wisecrack out of me.”

“You’ll be positively somber!” you agree.

“Yep! It’ll be a whole new me. I just gotta...not drink again. Ever.” She falters, standing at the threshold of the kitchen.

You step forward and nudge her shoulder. “I’m very much anticipating making the acquaintance of this new iteration of you,” you say. “I’m sure she’ll be just as much of a bell’s whistle as the original.”

It’s enough to make her giggle. You smile, relieved, as you both call it a night and retire to your respective beds.

As you lie there, waiting for sleep, you reflect on the state of things. Jane’s getting stronger by the day, and you haven’t seen anything like the manic exhaustion you caught her with before, so you think Roxy’s help has made a real difference. And Roxy’s getting sober for what sounds like the first time since the Curse hit! That’s certainly cause for jubilation. Then there’s Dirk: The two of you are getting closer in all kinds of interesting ways, and aside from semi-frequent hiccups, things have been progressing well with him, too.

Life is good, but…. You sigh. You do miss Grandma Jade a bit. You’ve been away from her for the better part of two months, now, and you haven’t spent this long apart since she took you in. It’s disorienting, after all these years, and you wish she was here with you.

But...all the same, you’re happy that you came to Skaia, even if it wasn’t part of the original plan.

* * *

Roxy continues to spend most of her time with Jane, and while you make an effort to visit with them regularly, spending time with Dirk quickly becomes the highlight of your day. You find yourself rushing through Roxy’s repair work so that you can stay in the forest with him longer.

The end of the week finds you back at Dirk’s cave in the late afternoon, where you’re relaxing on the edge of Dirk’s bed and watching him cook a pheasant over his fire for the two of you to eat. His reaction to your ribbing about cannibalism had been to just roll his eyes and nudge you with the edge of his wing, and, well. You suppose that’s fair.

Now, you lounge at the back of his cave and admire the play of shadows and tension over his back as he works the pieces of meat over the flame. His voice fills the cave with rambles about the weather, of all things, and you let it wash over you without really absorbing much. Something about the changing seasons.

After a few minutes, though, you start to get bored and a little restless, so you take advantage of the moment to take a closer look at some of the belongings that Dirk’s got stored back here. The bed, you’ve found, is surprisingly comfortable, and you’re itching to get him laid out on it.

...Another time, though. To distract yourself from an admittedly very enjoyable tangent, you turn your attention to the shelves and storage containers that he’s carved into existence.

You’re poking at one of Dirk’s older-looking cabinets when you notice that one of the side panels seems to be falling off. It comes away easily when you nudge it, and you have to scramble to catch it before it clatters against the ground. You’re about to apologize to Dirk when you notice a cloth-wrapped object inside.

Your eyebrows rise; you didn’t think Dirk had anything even remotely resembling clothing, but that’s clearly a sleeve.

Curiosity piqued, you quietly set the wooden panel aside and pull out what feels like some kind of vase or jug. It’s been completely wrapped up in what you’re tentatively labeling a robe, which has in turn been secured with a soft rope belt. You nudge a fold aside just enough for you to sneak a peek, and you blink in surprise at the intricate decorations you can see through the break in the cloth.

You glance back once more to make sure that Dirk is still distracted before you push the knots of the rope aside and pull away the cloth. It’s a formal robe, like you thought, but the make and design is much finer than you expected. There are rips and tears across the length of it, though, and it’s smeared with dirt and plant stains. Your eyebrows furrow. This is probably what he was wearing when he left Derse and started living in the forest, you can only assume--but with clothes like these, he must have been some kind of nobility at the very  _ least. _

Who was he, before the Curse?

You fold the robe in your lap and turn to the jar. It’s a big clay thing, ornately decorated with beautiful designs. This is not the kind of thing you think Dirk could have made out here in the wilderness, so maybe it’s also something he brought with him from Derse. Some kind of heirloom, perhaps, one worth carrying with him when he left everything else behind? If it carries sentimental value, that would at least explain why he keeps it hidden away. With his living situation, you know he could make great use of a solid container like this.

You chew your lip and consider wrapping it up and hiding it again, but...this is probably the best opening you could hope for, if you want him to finally tell you what happened to make him leave Derse after the Curse hit. You haven’t pushed, considering how badly he reacted when you first brought it up, but you’re  _ painfully _ curious. Surely now that you have a stronger relationship, he’ll be more open to telling you? 

You brace the jar against your chest with one arm and pick up the robe with your other hand. Dirk is still cooking and chattering about the shift in seasons when you get to your feet and turn to face his back. At the next opening in his ramble, you comment, “You know, chap, most people use clothes to cover  _ themselves  _ instead of inanimate objects.”

Dirk turns to you, eyebrow rising, and jolts when he sees what you’re holding.  _ “Don’t--!” _ he shouts. Expression pale and panicked, he leaps across the cave at you.

You freeze, but even if you hadn’t, you don’t think you’d have had time to react before Dirk snatches the jar away. His talons leave deep scratches down your arm, and you yelp, dropping the robe to cover the wound with your other hand. “Dirk, what in tarnations?” Cripes, you’re actually bleeding a little!

He’s not even looking at you, too busy clutching the jar close to himself as he retreats past you to the back of the cave. Your stomach sinks as you realize that he’s shaking.

You…may have made a mistake, here.

“Do you know--do you have any  _ idea _ what you almost just did?” Dirk demands, voice so tense it’s on the verge of snapping. “What you could have unleashed? Fucking  _ shit.” _

You raise your palms to him and take a step forward, deeply concerned by how upset he looks, and Dirk snaps his wings up in what is clearly a threat display. The feathers are poofed out to about three times their normal volume. “Alright,” you say, backing off. Your heart is pounding. “I don’t rightly know what’s going on here, but it’s clearly got you agitated.”

“Fucking right I’m agitated!” he shouts, and you flinch away. The two of you press against opposite walls and Dirk’s voice rings off the stone around you as he continues, “You almost--shit! I can’t believe I leave you unsupervised for five fucking minutes and you pull  _ this. _ You don’t ever touch this, do you understand me?”

“I wasn’t going to drop it! I’m sorry. Please, just--calm down and explain?”

Without another word to you, Dirk sits sideways against the far wall and brings his wing up so that it blocks you from each other’s view. You let out an anxious breath and lean against your own wall to wait.

It takes several minutes, but eventually he breaks the silence with a much calmer voice. “I’m sorry if I scared you,” he says, “but I’m serious about you never touching this again. You shouldn’t have dug it out in the first place. It was hidden for a fucking  _ reason.” _

You can admit that you maybe crossed a few boundaries here, but...unnerving as it was, his reaction has also made you more curious about his past. And even if the jar is a precious heirloom, you don’t think that explains the force of his reaction. Dirk, the man who has been so terrified of hurting you that he brings it up on a daily basis,  _ cut you with his own talons _ and doesn’t seem to have even noticed.

Your throat tightens as suspicion starts to curl in your chest.

“I’m sorry, chap,” you say. “I didn’t mean to upset you! It’s just that, well, I can tell that you’re hiding something. And I’m sure you’ve got your reasons for it! But knowing that there’s something so important to you that you don’t trust me enough to share...it kind of winds my crank, you know?” You pause. “I hope this doesn’t seem like I’m trying to pressure you! I know this is a difficult topic for you.”

He doesn’t respond for so long that you start to think that he’s just not going to. When he finally does, his voice is flat and quiet. “Alright. I guess after all I've put you through, you've earned an explanation. Just…let me finish, is all I ask.”

You perk up, hardly able to believe what you're hearing. Is he going to give you an actual straight answer, for once?

He takes a breath. “I told you to call me Dirk, but that wasn't always my name. I picked that name after… after everything. But before that, they called me Pandora.”

Pandora. Oh. Everything shifts so quickly that you actually feel dizzy. “You can’t mean the Pandora who released the Curse,” you tell him. You refuse to believe that your anxious, gentle Dirk is capable of something like that. The thought is just impossible to reconcile.

He laughs. It’s not a happy sound, and you feel sick. You wish he would move his wing so you could see him. “Yeah, that’s me. Hi. Fucking surprise, I guess. For what it’s worth, I didn’t mean for things to turn out this way. I was meant to bring blessings and goodness to this world. I thought that I was. Turns out, I just brought pain and suffering. Ha fucking ha, what a great twist.”

“No. Dirk, no, there must be some kind of mistake. This can’t be right.” It can’t be.

You want him to stop and agree, to tell you that of course it isn’t true. He doesn’t. “The gods created me and gave me a jar--this jar--and told me it was filled with their blessings for humanity below. It was a reward for the mortals’ creativity and ingenuity, they said, and they told me to deliver it to the Knight of Derse. So, being the arrogant little shit that I was, I sauntered on down in that gaudy fucking outfit with my  _ fucking _ jar of curses and thought I was the best thing that had ever happened to the mortal world.

“When I got to Derse, I told the Knight that I was a messenger from Olympus and that I came bearing gifts. That poor sad fuck believed me. So he set up this big ceremony for me to deliver the blessings from the jar, and I shit you not, I’m pretty sure that literally everyone in Derse showed up. A whole party of assholes celebrating the destruction of this world; I’m sure they were shitting themselves with laughter up on Olympus.”

His voice remains steady, almost cold, but his wing trembles. You want to reach out and sooth it to a steady calm. You want to run far, far away from Pandora, the bearer of all suffering in this world.

You do nothing.

“And then the Knight got to the part in his ceremony where I open the jar and release the blessings, and I did. Except there was nothing but pain and suffering in that jar, and the moment I took off the lid people started screaming. I closed it as soon as I realized what was happening, so at least I didn’t release all of whatever hells the gods had planned, but it was too little too late. The Knight was right in front of me. He got the worst of it. It...I think he was dead before he hit the ground, and honestly? That was probably the only kindness the jar offered. Fuck. It was bad, Jake. It was really bad.”

You know. You’ve seen the decimated villages, the ruined bodies. You’ve seen the plagues and the rot. You’ve seen what almost happened to  _ Jane. _ You know.

You feel sick. You don’t want to imagine this.

He keeps talking.

“The rest of the Court was standing far enough away that they lived a little longer. They saw what happened. They saw the Knight fall, and they saw me holding the murder weapon. And of course I was fucking untouched. Couldn’t have the Curse messing up the gods’ perfect little bait, could they, so it just went past me. But the Court saw it, and shit, I guess the gods wanted to see just how fucked up it could get, because when the Court called a curse down upon me for what I’d done, someone up there answered.”

His wing is trembling violently now. You can’t hear any emotion in his voice.

“They cursed me to look like the monster that I am, but I guess whatever the gods did when they originally made me was strong enough that most of my appearance stayed the same. It was enough to change my hands and arms, though. ‘May your hands bear the sign of your deception, so that all who look upon you know that anything you offer is not a gift but a Curse.’ ...yeah.”   


You almost don’t want to ask, but… “And the wings?”   


You hear a huff of what might be called laughter. “I already had wings when I came down from Olympus, but they used to be white. At the time, I thought they set me apart from humanity, marked me as something greater because I had a divine fucking connection to Olympus. Joke’s on me, I guess; I’m pretty sure the wings were just another part of the lure to make me seem harmless to the Knight. Pure as the freshly fallen snow and all that shit, right? But when I opened the jar and everything went to hell, the mortals figured out pretty quickly that they were being punished for stealing fire from the gods...so they turned that fire against me.”   


“They set you on fire?!”   


“Well, not literally. It was more symbolic flames from whichever god decided to play both sides of the field and answered the mortals’ curse. But it still hurt like a motherfucker, and my wings have been charred black ever since. Considering how much hatred they were pouring into those curses, though, I’m pretty sure I got away lucky.

“The people who hadn’t been killed in that initial wave weren’t exactly interested in hearing my apologies or excuses. In fact, if I hadn’t escaped into the woods, I think they would have killed me. A few of them actually used their last days to come after me in hunting parties before I made it over the mountains to this side. I almost panicked when I came across a hunting party on this side of the mountains, too, but they didn’t seem to know it was me hiding here, and I was able to scare them off. I’ve been hiding here ever since.”

This is painful to listen to. You don’t want it to be Dirk. It can’t be Dirk.

“I might have fucked up before--shit, I’m pretty sure that opening this jar was the actual biggest fuckup in the history of fuckups--but at least out here I can keep the last of the Curse trapped away where it can’t hurt anyone. I should have hidden the jar better before bringing you here. Fuck, I shouldn’t have brought you here in the first place. That was so fucking close. I’m sorry.”

Your throat hurts. “Dirk…”

He clears his throat and brusquely says, “So, now you know. Every bad thing that’s happened in the last ten years, every bit of pain and suffering you’ve seen or endured, every friend and family member you’ve lost: It’s all because of me. I fucking warned you, bro. I’m bad news. You shouldn’t be around me. Just...please don’t tell anyone where to find me, when you go. I swear to you, I’m just trying to keep the last of the Curse contained.” His wing curls in closer to him, hunching to tent over his hidden form.

This is… You swallow and hug your arms against your stomach as you stare at Dirk-- _ Pandora-- _ huddled in the corner of this cave where he’s been hiding for the last decade. You don’t know what to think. You remember thinking that the cave seemed surprisingly cozy and comfortable when you first saw it. You taste bile as you think about him finding this cave, on the run from hunters, and slowly making it something livable as he kept himself in total isolation. For  _ ten years. _

You sit down abruptly. Your heart is pounding. This is all...so much. It’s too much. And you know you have to say something. Dirk still sits silently in the corner, visible wing shivering. You can’t leave him like this. You don’t want to. But, gods, even with everything he’s just told you and everything you've been through with him, it’s hard to reach out to him, knowing that you’re reaching out to  _ Pandora. _

You force yourself to do it anyway.

At the first brush of your fingertips, Dirk’s wing jerks backwards violently, and you finally catch a glimpse of his face as he draws back against the wall behind him. He’s not crying, but you almost think it would be easier to look at him if he were. Instead, those bright burning eyes look empty. His entire expression is just...drained. Flat.

He’s clutching the jar to his chest. The sight of it, knowing what it is, makes your skin crawl.

You’re still reeling from everything he’s told you, but...your uncertainty and shock won’t do any good right now. He needs to be reassured, so you swallow down the messy tangle of emotions in your throat and try to make yourself be what he needs. You can process this later.

“Dirk, it’s...it’s going to be okay.”

He drops his eyes away from yours and looks down at the ground. The arms around the jar curl tighter, and you hear a faint scratch from the pressure of his claws against the clay. His wings mantle over him as he hunches forward, and you see his lips turn white from pressing them together.

You scoot closer. “It’ll be okay. That was...that was a whole lot of heavy shit just now, to be perfectly frank with you, but it’s over now, right? It’s over.”

Dirk bites out a bark of laughter. It’s a harsh sound. He still doesn’t look up to you. “It’s never fucking over. This is who I am, do you get that? I can’t change what I did, although fuck I wish I could. Keeping everyone safe from the rest of this fucking Curse is the only thing I can do to try to make up for it, but it’s never going to be enough.”

And through all this, the jar is just  _ there, _ ominous and sickening. Your stomach churns at the sight of it. You don’t know how Dirk can bear to hold it, knowing very well what it is.

When you stand and walk across the cave, Dirk flinches like you’ve struck him, but he doesn’t say anything. His expression turns startled, though, when you turn back to him with the tattered robe in hand. “What are you doing?”

Instead of answering, you drape the robe over the jar and start tucking it in around his hands. He moves with you, body language increasingly bewildered, and together you wrap it up again. He takes the rope belt from you when you offer it and ties the whole thing up before setting it next to his hip.

There. It’s a little easier, now, having it out of sight, and the change in pace has loosened Dirk up a little bit, too. “It’s going to be okay, Dirk,” you repeat more forcefully.

He stares at you, ember-bright eyes wide. “You don’t understand. I ruined  _ everything. _ You should hate me.”

You cup his face in your hands and press a kiss to his forehead. His wings shake in your peripheral vision, and you tell him, “I don’t hate you.”

Like a string snapped, Dirk lurches forward and wraps his arms around your waist, burying his face in the crook of your neck. You cradle the back of his skull with one hand and drape the other over his shoulders to pull him in. His wings shudder on either side of you as he shakes in your arms. Your mind is blank but for the motions of soothing him, and you stare over his head at the wall of the cave.

You hold him like that, rocking him gently and murmuring reassurances, for a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Chapter title ALSO from Rihanna’s We Found Love: _We found love in a hopeless place_ \-- because dramatic irony is a beautiful thing. Poor Dirk.)
> 
> HI, EVERYBODY. :D Remember that author’s note on chapter 3, when I talked about the Pandora myth? “And this is how I tie in the Hesiod quote from the original art”? Nah, bro. _This_ is how I tie in the Hesiod quote from the original art. :D :D :D
> 
> Trivia! Dirk’s wings being burnt from white to black is a fun little reference to the Greek myth for why crows have black feathers instead of white, with bonus points for invoking fire because that’s what started the whole Pandora Thing. (Crow feathers: Apollo got upset with his messenger crow for being the bearer of bad news and...well, he burnt the crow so badly that all its descendants also had burnt-black feathers. It is a truth universally acknowledged that Greek gods are kind of dicks. Especially Zeus. Just. Fuck that guy.)


	7. Heart to Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this was actually only part of what I had planned for this chapter, but it was almost twice the usual chapter length and still missing several scenes, so I decided to split it up.
> 
> Also, I’m adjusting the story tags slightly, but don’t panic; it’s basically just the stuff we covered in ch 5. :) (do let me know if you think I've missed anything, though!)
> 
> ETA: Added a third new tag because holy crap who has hurt you all this way. (It was totally Hussie, wasn't it.) <3

Your sleep that night is troubled, to say the least. When you wake up the next morning, you have a moment of exhausted bliss before everything that happened crashes down on you. It all feels hazy and unreal, like it happened in a dream, but you vividly remember Dirk's expression when you finally got a look at his face. You remember the feeling of clay under your fingertips when you held the jar, and you have to spend a minute sitting on the edge of the bed with your head bowed while you wait for your stomach to stop churning. Oh, gods, if you'd opened it, not knowing what it was…. You viscerally understand Dirk's panic, now.

Holy shit shingles. Dirk is Pandora. You're in a goshdamned relationship with _Pandora._

What are you even supposed to do with that information?!

You know what would happen next if this were a traditional epic like the ones your grandma used to tell you. The evil Pandora releases disease and suffering into the world; the adventurer finds Pandora and tracks him to his lair; the adventurer slays Pandora, breaking the Curse and ridding Pandora's influence from the world; and everyone rejoices and sings the adventurer’s praise as he lives happily ever after. A happy ending for the ages.

But it's not just Pandora, anymore, is it? It’s _Dirk,_ whose cave is both his refuge and his cage, whose lips are so sweet against your own, who carries all his regrets around his neck and makes not a whisper of complaint as they quietly strangle him. You try to contemplate raising a weapon against him and feel your hands shake. There's no way you could play your role in that pantomime, not if it's Dirk. So what are you supposed to do?

What in all the hells are you supposed to do?

* * *

Twenty minutes later, you sit fully dressed on the edge of your bed, all of your belongings secured in the pack at your feet, and contemplate the long black feather in your hands. You’d forgotten about it until you came across it while packing, but you’d taken it with you that day when you helped Dirk preen his wings. You turn the feather over and over in your hands, tracing the barbs with a finger, and think.

You could leave.

You could just...walk out of Skaia, and let things resolve themselves without you. Jane and Roxy would be fine. Skaia would be fine. Dirk would...well, he'd be fine eventually, you're sure. If the last ten years have proven anything, it’s that he’s resilient. And, really, it’s not as though your departure should come as a surprise to anyone! You’re an adventurer, after all. You were meant to roam.

And if you leave, you can finally see Grandma Jade again. You’ve missed her. You imagine her wide, green eyes and bright smile as she listens to you regale her with tales of your first solo adventure. You could tell her about the town you stayed in, and the work you did, and the friends you made. You could tell her how much you learned, how you got off-course at first but ultimately forged your own path, how you embraced the unpredictable nature of adventuring and explored the supposedly cursed woods you found.

You could tell her about the mysterious man you discovered when you were looking for something to conquer, and the wings and talons that drew you in when they should have warned you away, and how you had just grown to--to care deeply about him when you discovered the terrible truth about him.

...She would demand to know why you didn't stick around to see this through to the end, wouldn't she. Your grandma never did like leaving a story unfinished.

You set Dirk’s feather at your side, drop your head in your hands, and groan. Gods, you don't know what to _do_. You wish you'd never found the jar. You wish you'd been less curious about Dirk's past and just let him keep his secrets.

But you don't wish you'd never met him, and you don’t wish you hadn’t come to Skaia in the first place. The realizations come almost as a surprise in the wake of all that’s happened, and you shy away from what they might mean.

You sit there agonizing for long enough that you hear Roxy go through her morning routine and leave for Jane’s. The front door closes behind her, and when the silence returns, you still haven’t moved. You need to decide.

But...you don’t need to decide right this second. You should do your day’s work, even if you do end up leaving today. It was part of your original agreement with Roxy, after all. And it’ll be early afternoon by the time you finish, so you should eat lunch before you leave, anyway.

So it’ll come down to which direction you walk after lunch. Alright. You nod and get to your feet, leaving your pack and the feather where they lie.

* * *

To say that you’re distracted while working that day would be an understatement, but you think it’s entirely justified under the circumstances. At least you’re working alone and only occasionally have to interact with the townspeople whose machines you’re repairing. You don’t think you could handle an actual conversation right now.

You go through the motions of repairs almost on autopilot, thoughts circling endlessly around _Dirk-Pandora-Dirk_ and everything he told you yesterday. What a shitty situation all around.

You do feel for Dirk, certainly. Your stomach roils when you remember his wrung-out, exhausted expression when you’d finally taken your leave last night. Gods, it had taken so long to calm and settle him, and all the time something in the back of your mind had been screaming in horror at having Pandora (and that godsforsaken _jar_ ) so close to you.

But...you pause, brow furrowing. From what he said, it sounded like he had only the best intentions. If you focus on Dirk, just Dirk with no hint of Pandora casting shadows over him, you can picture him--younger and brighter and _relaxed_ for once in his friggin’ life as he smiles up at the amorphous gods of Olympus. He would have been so happy, then.

You bite your lip. And then he was thrown into a maelstrom of disease and curses and pain. So much pain.

And the gods actually _lied_ to him about what was in the jar? They couldn’t even have the decency to brace him for what was coming? You think of Dirk’s insistence when you first met him that you never speak of the gods in his presence, and you wish you could send them a Curse of your own for what they’ve done. They lied to Dirk, used him, betrayed him, and abandoned him. He was _innocent._

Pandora was innocent.

You have to stop working and lean against the wall next to you for a minute as you absorb that. _Pandora,_ whose name you and everyone else cursed again and again over the years, who delivered the Curse by his own hand, resulting in countless deaths and years of pain...was innocent. The only thing he did wrong was trust in the gods who gave him life and a purpose and then stabbed him in the back, and he’s spent the last ten years paying for their transgressions. With interest.

...

Those shit fucking _sons of bitches!!_

Okay.

You take a deep breath, shake your hands out of the fists they’ve clenched into, and get back to work. You’ll figure out how to explain everything to your grandma later. You don’t want to be late when you go out to visit Dirk this afternoon.

* * *

As the day wears on, your concern for Dirk builds, and you opt to skip your usual lunch at the tavern in favor of bringing some rations with you in your hiking pack. You’ll eat when you get there, but for now you just need to reassure yourself by going to see Dirk.

Except, when you get to the clearing, Dirk isn’t there. Your stomach drops. You’re a little early, and it’s entirely possible that he’s running late, caught up in some task or another, but...you don’t think that’s the case. You call out for him, just to be sure, but you’re running for his cave even before the echoes of your voice begin to fade.

You don’t see any sign of him on the way there, and your heart is in your throat when you push aside the hanging vines to see inside. You feel a split second of relief when you see him lying on his bed in the back of the cave, but your concern picks up again when you get a good look at him.

He’d been lying on his stomach, wings sprawled, but he sits up to look at you as you walk in. “Shit,” he says, voice croaking.

You can only agree. He looks wrecked. His face is pale, almost washed-out but for his bloodshot eyes. It’s a toss up if that’s from tears or exhaustion--you’re confident from looking at him that he didn’t sleep much last night, if at all. Shit. You thought he’d been okay when you left.

He wraps his arms around himself and hunches forward, staring warily at you through his bangs. You swallow and cautiously approach. “Hullo, there. I was expecting you at our usual rendezvous point. It gave me quite the start when you weren’t there.”

“You came back,” he says like he didn’t hear you. “I didn’t think you would.”

The shame that jolts through you gets shoved down immediately, and you kneel in front of him. “Of course I came back!” you say with forced cheer. “I have to say I’m a little worried about you, though. You look like something the cat dragged through the friggin’ sewage drains. Have you even eaten today?”

He stares at you for a moment before shaking his head, and you’re honestly not sure if it’s an answer to your question or just a negation of your presence on general principle. You decide to err on the side of caution and, deciding that he could use the food more than you right now, pull out some dried fruit.

Dirk takes it when you offer it, but he makes no move to actually eat. “Why would you possibly have come back after all that?” he asks. “I mean, I get that I basically trapped you in an awkward position yesterday and made you feel like you had to pacify me in order to get out of here safely, and that was pretty fucking shitty of me, but I don’t understand why you came _back._ If you’re worried that I’m going to do something drastic to your friends in Skaia out of some kind of desire for petty revenge or some shit...well, don’t. I’m not going to bother anyone. You don’t need to keep coming out here and catering to me like this.”

“Pardon my befuddlement, but what the blue blazing shit are you even talking about?” you demand. “I’m not--catering to you? What?”

He sets the piece of dried fruit on the bed and clasps his hands together as he leans forward. “Listen, I realize that I unloaded some pretty heavy shit on you last night that you weren’t prepared for, and I’m sorry about that. Shit was completely inexcusable. But you don’t need to worry about retaliation for going back to your life after this. I might be an absolute monster, but I’m at least the kind of monster that’ll stay locked up in the closet and leave the rest of the household the hell alone. No bumps or groans from me; just go on with your life and try to forget that the closet ever existed, and everyone gets to live on happily.”

You sit back on your heels, reeling. “Sakes alive, have you been fretting about this since I left? I’m not leaving. What happened ten years ago was a whole lot of bullpucky, it really was, but it wasn’t your fault. You know that, right? None of that was your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“How the fuck can you say that?” he demands. “People are _dead_ because of me. A lot of people. Of course I did something wrong.”

“Yes, a lot of people died and that’s awful, but it doesn’t mean you’re automatically to blame! You didn’t know.” You scrub your hands over your face. “You couldn’t have known. Dirk, you did the best you could.”

“Yeah, and look how that turned out,” he grumbles.

What is it going to take for him to believe you? “Did you put the Curse in the jar?”

He looks away. “No, but that doesn’t change the fact that I let it out.”

“But you didn’t know!” you exclaim. He purses his lips together, and you puff your cheeks in frustration. “You told me yourself that you thought you were bringing us blessings. You were tricked.” You take a chance and put your hand over one of his. “Dirk, you were innocent.”

He whips his hand away from you. His eyes are burning when they meet yours, and he snaps, “Stop trying to fucking excuse me! I know what I am, what I was made to be, alright? And if you can’t deal with that, fine, you can leave, but you don’t get to stand there and try to--to _justify_ it or make it _okay_ just so you can feel better. It’s not fucking okay, it’s never going to be fucking okay, and I’m not going to sit here and listen to you spin everything in circles trying to say that it is. Shit, Jake, you’re better than this.”

You shrink back at the harsh rebuke, but...no. You are _so tired_ of hearing him talk about how awful he is when that couldn’t be farther from the truth, and you’ll be damned if you sit back and let your--your boyfriend think so lowly of himself. “Well, you’re better than this, too, and I’m not the one twisting myself into goshdamned spirographs, here!” He opens his mouth to protest, and you boil over.

“No, you shut that clever trap of yours and friggin’ _listen to me,_ damn it! It’s not okay what happened, alright; it’s so not okay that to be straight with you I can barely think about it without wanting to blow my top, but that’s completely different from saying that what _you_ did was not okay! From what you confided in me, you only ever had everyone’s best interests in mind, and just because your actions were twisted around on you doesn’t mean that you’re responsible for the twisting! You didn’t do a friggin’ thing wrong. You’re a _good person,_ Dirk, and I’m sick to death of hearing you claim otherwise. It’s pretty shitty to hear someone you love put themselves down like this, you know, especially for something that was very demonstrably not their fault in the slightest!”

You see his eyes widen, but you don’t let yourself slow down to think about what you’ve just confessed to him. You barrel on. “If you’re going to blame anyone for this--and you should!--then blame the motherfucking curs up on Olympus who are _actually_ responsible for this whole shitstorm. They had no right at all to treat you the way they did. Matter of fact, it really grinds my gears to think about what those conksucking bastards did to you! You had every reason to trust them, and they used that to manipulate you and hurt everyone, and if I could get my hands on them I’d love to show them a piece of my mind.

“You had nothing but good intentions, and the fact that they could even _consider_ using you like that, let alone actually go through with it, is utterly fucking appalling. Whatever horrible things they tricked you into doing don’t reflect on you as a person, though, and I’m going to make you believe that if it’s the last thing I do!” you huff, hands on your hips as you glare down at him.

The energy that fueled your rant slowly fades, though, as he just sits gaping up at you, and you feel yourself start to wilt and second-guess yourself. Weasels in a basket, did you really just go off on him like that? There he is, probably--scratch that, _definitely_ \--still traumatized by everything that happened, and you just shouted him into silence.

So much for being supportive. Shit, you’ve really put your foot in it this time, haven’t you.

Before you can apologize for your outburst, though, he sighs and rubs at his forehead. “You really believe all that, huh.”

That, at least, is easy to answer. “I really, really do.”

He sighs again. “Fuck. Jake. You’re still missing the point. It doesn’t matter how good my intentions were. I was literally made to hurt people even when I’m trying to help them. The best thing I can do for the world is to keep this jar and myself the hell away from everyone else. And that includes you.” He looks up at you, and he looks exhausted. “I don’t want to hurt you, Jake, but if we keep this up, it’s inevitable.”

You consider this for a moment, looking down into his tired orange eyes. It’s complete bullshit, you know, but you don’t think you’re going to be able to convince him of it. Not tonight, in any case. “Well, I don’t believe that for a hot second, bucko, and that’s that,” you say and plop down next to him on the edge of his bed.

He shakes his head and stares at you. “Shit, you really _don’t_ have any sense of self-preservation, do you?” he asks. “But. Uh. Fuck. I guess I’m enough of a greedy bastard that I’ll take it. Just...consider yourself fuckin’ warned, I guess.”

“Grand,” you say. “Now will you eat something?” You offer him the dried fruit again, and this time he chuckles ruefully and actually eats some. You settle in next to him, pleased when he starts to lose some of the tension he’s been carrying, and wrap an arm between his shoulders and the bases of his wings. He lets you pull him in to lean against you, and the two of you sit in silence while Dirk continues eating.

After a few minutes, he clears his throat and asks, “When you were talking about the people you love, did you--were you… Was that...?”

You tighten your grip and tug at your collar with the other hand, trying to ignore the nerves that strike. You’d been trying not to think about everything you shouted at him. “Well, erm, I wasn’t really aiming to drop a bombshell like that in your lap, especially with everything else you’ve got whirling around in your head, consarn it! But, er, now that it’s out there, I suppose there’s nothing for it but to address the proboscidea in the room.” You suck in a bracing breath. “Indeed I was including you in that category, such as it is.”

He lets out a long sigh that you can’t quite interpret and doesn’t say anything in response to your declaration, but he finally friggin’ relaxes against you as he polishes off the rest of the fruit. Crisis averted, you hope, and you just hold him as he dozes off against you. He looks exhausted. After all the worry and tension today, it’s a balm to sit with him like this.

Time passes unabated, though, and eventually it gets late. It is with great reluctance that you nudge Dirk back to full alertness and regain your feet. “I should take my leave soon, if I’m going to make it back to Skaia before dark,” you say, stretching out your legs after sitting for so long. “Cripes, I’m not looking forward to that hike back.”

Dirk clears his throat, and you stop to look back at him. Without meeting your eyes, he says, “You, uh. You know. You could stay. If you wanted to. Here, I mean.”

You look at him sitting there, clearly desperate for you to say yes but trying so hard to hide it, and feel your heart twist. “I can’t,” you say, and hurry to finish when he flinches. “Not tonight. Roxy would have kittens if I just up and disappeared without warning like this, and she and Jane might even send out a search party if they thought I was hurt in the woods.”

“It’s okay, you don’t need to explain, it’s fine,” he starts, but you cut him off.

“Tomorrow, though?” He freezes mid-word and stares at you. “I could tell Roxy that I’m camping in the woods, so she wouldn’t worry when I don’t show up until the day after. There’s perks to being an adventurer, you know.” You grin and wink.

Dirk swallows. “I--yeah. Yeah, tomorrow is good. Tomorrow’s fuckin’ perfect. Great. Cool.”

You beam at him and pull him into one last embrace before calling it a night. This time, you think, he’ll be alright for the night, and you’ve both got tomorrow to look forward to.

* * *

The next day, you catch Roxy on your way out of town in the afternoon. She looks a little run-down and weary when you first get her attention, but within a few sentences she seems to be more or less back to normal. “At any rate, I hope it doesn’t cause too much of a bother, but I’ve got a hankering to go camping out in the woods tonight, get some fresh air, you know?”

She raises an eyebrow and comments, “You’re your own person; you can do whatever you want. Don’t need to ask my permission. Just try not to get into anything too dangerous before you get back, lol.”

“Certainly not!” you assure her, grinning at the thought. If only she knew. “I’ll be back by tomorrow evening.”

She smiles. “Well, at least you picked a good day to abandon us!” Your grin falters at that, but she doesn’t seem to notice. “There haven’t been many new repair requests coming in, lately, and I can just spend the time I was planning to work on the rifles tomorrow to pick up the slack instead. You go and have fun.”

“Erm, right.” You consider her for a moment, but she keeps beaming at you, and you decide that maybe you’re reading too much into her word choice. You shake your head a little to clear it and wish her well. Any concerns you may have had about Roxy dissipate as your thoughts turn to your plans for the evening. Anticipation puts a bounce in your step as you leave town.

* * *

An unspoken, nervous excitement hangs over you and Dirk that afternoon. You brought your bedroll with you (you think Roxy would have more than a few questions if she saw that you’d left it behind), but you don’t immediately go to roll it out when the sun starts to set.

Rather than invite you to share his bed as you had hoped, however, Dirk awkwardly suggests that you could set up your bedroll on the ground adjacent. You’re a little disappointed, to be honest, but you go along with it. If he’s not comfortable with sharing, then you won’t insist! Your grandma taught you to be a better gentleman than that.

Besides, it’s not as if this is even remotely the first time you’ve slept on the ground, and with your bedroll it’s not even particularly uncomfortable. The biggest thing that sets it apart from the many, many times you and Grandma Jade have toughed it out in the wilderness is the silent tension that fills the air. It’s not so much the sweet bite of anticipation; rather, it’s the awkward nerves that come of having your desire in hand and not knowing what to do with it. You think that both of you feel the call to do _something,_ but neither of you acts on it, and the silence stretches on as you drift separately to sleep

The morning, on the other hand, brings a treat. You wake up first and learn that Dirk sleeps on his stomach. More importantly, apparently his wings sometimes end up draping over the edge of his bed and onto the ground--or, in this case, onto you. You smile and comb your fingers through the feathers resting against your arm. Dirk’s wing twitches, and he shifts, grumbling almost inaudibly, but he doesn’t wake as you continue your petting.

A little while later, you’re gifted with the sight of his bleary orange eyes blinking owlishly at you past the edge of his bed. He breaks into a quiet smile of his own that lasts until he comes all the way awake and slips back into his reserved persona.

He seems embarrassed by the slip, but you commit the image to memory and brush your lips against his knuckles as you get up. This only serves to fluster him further, of course, but the blush that spreads across his still sleep-mussed face makes a pretty picture.

It’s a good way to start your day, you think, hiding a grin as you turn from him to stretch. You’d be happy to wake up to that sight more often.

The next few hours are a little strange, though. You’ve never spent a morning together, and it’s a break from your expectations that’s all the more discomfiting because it feels like it shouldn’t be. This isn’t like last night, where you slept in each other’s presence for the first time. It’s daylight, now, and eight or so hours shouldn’t make such a difference, but you’re very aware that Dirk has a morning routine that you’re not familiar with, and you don’t know how to fit yourself into it. You and Dirk both try to hide how unsure you are of your footing, but you have a sinking suspicion that you’re just as transparent in your discomfort as he is.

It continues to chafe over the course of the day, and by mid-afternoon you’re itching to get back to Skaia. You share lunch with Dirk, who rambles to you about something or other in between bites, but your mind is already back at Roxy’s house. You hum and nod along while thinking longingly of the warm bath that’s waiting for you. As an adventurer, you’re more than prepared to face the dust and grime of life on the road, but all the same there’s nothing quite like being clean. And Roxy has such a nice bath...

“Jake? Dude. Jake.” Your attention snaps back to Dirk, who’s staring at you with a crease in his brow. With a pang of guilt, you realize that you had completely tuned him out, and he’s clearly noticed.

“Sorry, chum,” you say, clearing your throat. You grin at him. “Looks like my mind slipped its leash and went wandering the fields and meadows when I wasn’t looking!”

He snorts, and his expression smooths out. “Well, we can’t have that. Maybe you should invest in a harness, instead. Who knows what it’ll get into and start eating if it goes running around unsupervised? Gotta be careful unless you want it to get sick all over your shoes.”

“Ha! I’ll not have mental vomit on these trotters of mine, thank you very much!” You shake your head and let your smile dim a little. “On the other hand, if my mind is wandering like this, maybe it’s time for me to head back.”

Dirk’s lips tighten, and he drops his gaze. “Oh. Right. Yeah, let me help you get your stuff together.”

“Much obliged!” you say as you get to your feet. As you gather your belongings, you ask, “Say, what do you think of doing this again in a couple of days?” This time may not have gone as smoothly as you’d hoped, but you think that if you and Dirk take some time to regroup, it’ll go better next time. Now you have a better idea what to expect, after all!

He blinks a few times as your question registers. “Oh! Uh, yeah. Sure. I thought--never mind. That would be pretty rad, actually.”

“Fantabulous! I’ll need to space them out, of course, and put in my time in Skaia, but I reckon we could make this a regular thing.” You grin. This feels like a fine progression to your adventure, and you can tell that Dirk is glad for the company. And, oh, maybe one day you’ll be able to bring Roxy or Jane along, too! That would certainly be easier on Dirk than bringing him to the more populated town. He’ll need to work up to meeting people like Noir. Roxy and Jane, though, are perfect to start him out with other people, and you just know that they’ll get along great with Dirk.

But now is definitely not the time to bring any of that up, considering how out of sorts he’s been over the last few days. You resolve to hold onto the idea until he’s at least a little less stressed and more open to the possibility. For now, you bid him farewell and head back to Skaia for a well-earned soak in Roxy’s bath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout @ my [friend](http://dra9ons.tumblr.com/) for making really pretty [fanart](http://commakaze.tumblr.com/post/165123902400/dra9ons-for-commakaze-because-she-basically) for this fic, despite not actually reading it and also having basically zero interest in Homestuck, wut.
> 
> (@Nickeleo if you’re still around, I would really love to have yours on my blog, too? But I have no idea what the etiquette is for sharing art when it isn’t already on tumblr, and also I am an anxious disaster, halp.)


	8. Brave the Wilderness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’re finally back! And _you guys holy shit there’s such beautiful art i don’t know what to do with myself._ Just. [Take a look](http://commakaze.tumblr.com/tagged/tpff-art) and leave the artists some love, please. <3
> 
> Also, heads up that I made some edits to ch 5! Mostly minor stuff, but it should flow better now. :)
> 
> (Chapter title from Walk the Moon’s One Foot: _Oh, through the wilderness / How come even together there can be loneliness? / Oh, our heart's a mess / But it's our only defense to brave the wilderness_ )

You’re expecting Roxy to still be out on repairs when you get back, so you’re surprised to see her helping Jane prepare for the lunch rush when you walk into the tavern. Jane looks up and greets you with a smile as you enter. “Well, if it isn’t Jake English! Come on in. I couldn’t believe it when Roxy told me you went camping in the woods last night. I’m glad to see you’re back safe.”

You join them by the bar but don’t sit down. You're not planning on staying long. “Quite!” you reply. “It was an enjoyable diversion, if I say so myself, but it’s good to be back in civilization.”

“If you can call this town civilized,” Roxy snarks, still chopping vegetables. She nudges Jane. “See, I toldja he’d be fine. Jake’s got some kind of anti-trouble aura. Right, Jake?” she adds without looking up from her work.

“Er, I don’t know that I’d call it that, but I do seem to find my way out of scrapes, I suppose,” you say. “Listen, since you’re here anyway, I just wanted to let you both know that I’m back in town and heading back to the house for a soak.” You grin at Roxy. “I didn’t want to startle you if you came back while I was in the bath, so I guess it’s lucky that you finished repairs so quickly!”

“Oh, no, they took ‘bout as long as they usually do!” she chirps brightly, flashing you a wide grin. “But I got an early start, considering I’ve had to drag myself out of bed to get to Jane’s at ass o’clock in the morning every day, anyway. I’ve been waking up p much with the sun, actually.” She chops the last of her vegetables with considerably more force. “Not that you would have noticed, seeing how little time you’ve been spending in town lately.”

_ “Roxy,” _ Jane hisses warningly while you blink at them, uncertain.

“Yeah, sorry, whatever.” Roxy pushes her vegetables over to Jane. “Here, that should do it. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna go home and take a nap. I’ve got a fuckin’ headache. See you at dinner.” She ignores Jane’s frustrated glare and brushes past you on her way out the door.

You look back to Jane, concerned. “What in the blazes was all that about?”

Jane sighs and rubs at her temples. “Nothing. Roxy’s being difficult. But...actually, would you mind staying for a minute? I wanted to talk to you about something. It shouldn't take long.”

You hesitate, wanting very much to just call it a day and relax in the bath, but...you’re not sure that you want to risk crossing paths with Roxy on the way back, right now. You suppose you can spare a few minutes for Jane. You take a seat across from her. “What's on your mind?”

She bits her lip and jumps right into it. “Is everything okay between you and Roxy?”

“Er, yes?” You blink at her, bemused. “Everything’s tip-top as far as I’m concerned.” You hesitate, stomach sinking. “Unless...you don’t think she left because she’s upset with me, do you?”

“No, definitely not!” Jane hurries to reassure you, but then she hesitates. “Well, maybe a little. But I was actually more worried that it might be the other way around.” Jane crosses her arms and leans her elbows against the bar. “I know she’s been a little bit much, this last week or so, but is it really getting so bad that you feel like you need to sleep out of town somewhere?”

That...is not what you were expecting, and you shift in your seat. “I’m sorry, but I really haven’t got the faintest clue what you might be talking about.”

She leans in a little more and smiles. “Really, Jake, it’s okay to tell me what’s going on. I just want to help sort it out! If there’s a problem in your agreement with Roxy, I can help you two renegotiate. It’s sort of what I do around here, hoo hoo!” She winks. “Just let me know what’s bothering you, and we can set it straight. Even with the way she’s acting lately, I think we’d both hate for this to drive you away.”

You shift uncertainly. “Jane, really, you’ve lost me. Listen, I’m more than a little pooped; maybe we can pick this up later, after I’ve bathed…?”

“Jake, come on. I know I kind of pushed you at Roxy at first, but if living with her isn’t working out, we can find you somewhere else to stay. Or, do you just not like doing the repair work anymore? It’s fine if you don’t! We could swap you with Roxy, if you want to do something else for a while. I could make an arrangement with her for you to keep staying there, and she could go back to repairs while you work here with me, instead.” She pushes a strand of hair behind her ear and smiles.

“I--no? There’s nothing wrong with the repair work,” you say. “Honestly I feel like you’ve just got the wrong end of things here, and this is all a misunderstanding! I really did just want to get out of town and enjoy the woods for a while.” You see her ready some kind of rebuttal, and you hurry to cut her off. “Listen, it’s always great to stop and shoot the breeze with you, but I’m feeling grimier than the underside of a back alley card table, so I’m going to go take advantage of Roxy’s bath. Catch you later?” You grin brightly.

For a second, you think she’s going to keep pushing, but then she sighs and nods. “Sure, alright. See you at dinner.”

“Capital,” you agree, and you make your escape.

Roxy’s door is firmly shut when you get back, and you spare a minute to stare at it, wondering if  _ she’s _ got the wrong idea about your trips out of town, too, but you decide that you’ll just have to deal with that as it comes.

* * *

Fortunately, the issue doesn’t come up after that, and you put the incident out of your mind to focus on Dirk. Things go much more smoothly the next time you spend the night, now that you both have a better idea of what to expect. You help him with dinner, and the two of you relax in the warmth from the fire as you chat.

You regale him with tales that your grandma used to tell you, stories of daring adventure and cunning escapes. He offers insightful commentary, forcing you to consider some of your favorites in a new light. You don’t think you’ve ever had as much fun debating with the merits of Heracles’ actions while besting the terrible hydra.

As the evening gives way to full night, however, Dirk banks his fire, and you settle into your respective beds, still whispering conversation in the darkness. The gaps between your comments grow longer, sleep tugging at your heels, and you’re on the verge of nodding off when you hear Dirk murmur, “I don’t want you to leave.”

You rouse a little at that, confused. “I’m right here?”

“...Yeah,” he says quietly. “I know.”

You wait, but he doesn’t say anything else. “Dirk?”

“It’s nothing. Sorry. Go back to sleep.” His feathers rustle as he shifts.

You hesitate. It doesn’t sound like nothing, but...it’s late, and you don’t want to push him. You still feel a little guilty about how strongly you reacted the first day after he told you about his past. Besides, if this is what you think it is, you’re just going to have to show him that you’re sticking around. Words can only do so much.

“Pleasant dreams,” you tell him. He mumbles something back, and you let your eyes drift shut again.

* * *

However much it may have been bothering him, there’s no sign of his late-night thoughts when you get up the next morning. It takes almost nothing to convince him to go for a walk to the river, and the two of you bring a few of his waterskins along to fill up.

The water is a little colder than you remember when you dip your hand into it, or maybe it’s just that the air isn’t as warm. You look around at the changing colors of the leaves, and you’re abruptly reminded that the seasons are moving into autumn. It’ll be winter soon.

You glance at Dirk, who doesn’t seem to be cold despite his utter lack of clothing, and wonder. The weather in this region tends to be relatively mild, and clearly he has his ways of making it through the winter, but you can’t imagine it’s comfortable to tough it out in a cave.

Dirk notices your scrutiny and lifts an eyebrow at you. You grin and wink at him, enjoying the slight blush it earns you, and resolve that you’ll figure out a way to get him into Skaia by winter.

In the meantime, Dirk is still watching you somewhat warily. “Just enjoying the view,” you tell him, and he rolls his eyes and turns back to the river, although you notice that the flush has spread to his ears.

You relent and look away to  _ actually _ take in the view around you. “You know, this reminds me a lot of a lake my grandma and I visited a few years ago,” you note. “Especially with the leaves turning.” At Dirk’s curious prompt, you reminisce for a while.

“It sounds nice,” he says when you finish.

“Yeah,” you sigh. “It was a real breath-snatcher of a view. I'll have to take you sometime.”

You catch a hint of motion out of the corner of your eye, and you look over to see Dirk resettling his wings, a tight expression on his face. “Yeah, I don't think so. Not much for travelling, myself.”

...Right. You, er, weren't planning on getting into this now, but since you've already blundered into it, you might as well test the waters. “I think it would suit you quite well, actually! I know you're a bit of a homebody, but I think you'd like the rest of the world, if you gave it a chance.”

He turns to stare at you directly. “Jake, what the fuck. You're not this oblivious.”

You puff out a breath. “Well, alright, we'd have to figure out something for the jar, assuming we don't just carry it with us--”

“It's not about the jar. Or, fuck, not entirely, although that’s a problem too. I don't know what the hell you're thinking, but I can't just waltz out of the forest like I'm--like I'm just another person. Or did you forget who I am?  _ What  _ I am?” He flexes his wings for emphasis.

“Well, it’s not like we’d go around telling people your whole life story!” you protest. “Cripes. We can just say it was an unusual effect of the Curse and leave it at that. Besides, don’t you have at least a little curiosity in your noggin about what it’s like out there? What other people are like?”

He sets his jaw and crosses his arms, drawing his wings in tight again. “There's nothing for me out there. What is this about, really?”

You clasp your hands together and rub one thumb over the back of the other, avoiding his eyes. “I’m not sure what you mean? I just want you to be happy.”

“Yeah, that’s great and all, but I’m getting the feeling that’s not all there is to it. If you’re getting sick of this place--if you want to leave--I'm not forcing you to stay. But I can't go with you.” He glares at you mulishly, but his hands tighten around his arms until his talons press deep indents into his skin, and you can tell that he’s terrified you’ll walk away from this.

You grimace. This isn't how you wanted this to go, and Dirk's just getting more upset the more you try to explain. “Alright,” you concede. “Never mind, I’ll drop it.”

He’s still a little tense when you move to lean into him, but as you turn the conversation to lighter topics, he gradually relaxes. You hide a sigh of relief.

His reaction still weighs on you a few hours later as you walk back to his cave together. You’re not sure what to make of the situation you’ve found yourself in. How are you supposed to convince him to go out and meet other people if he cuts you off at the knees the moment you even attempt to broach the topic?

Lost in thought, you don’t realize you’ve walked nearly the whole way back in silence until Dirk clears his throat, and you look up to see that you’ve arrived at the clearing in front of his cave. Beside you, Dirk fiddles with his waterskin before abruptly turning to face you.

“Look,” he says, speaking quickly. “I’m sorry if I came off as abrasive or ungrateful earlier, and I definitely didn’t mean to make it sound like I wanted you to leave, but you just--this is real, alright? I know you want to believe that everything’s fine and dandy, and, hell, if that’s what gets you to stay, maybe I should keep my damn mouth shut and take what I can get. But the rest of the world doesn’t work that way.” He takes a breath. “I appreciate that you wanted to share that part of your life with me, but it’s only a fantasy. And it has to stay that way. I’m sorry. I know you deserve better than this.”

You drop your waterskin, barely managing to keep it from bursting and wasting your efforts, and step closer to him. Dirk’s eyes flick to yours just before you catch his face between your palms and press your lips together. You feel him suck his breath in, but you pull back before he can respond, and you smile at his wide eyes. “Why don’t you let me decide that, alright?” you ask, rubbing your thumb over the curve of his cheekbone.

“I--yeah. Yeah, okay. Sorry,” he manages, eyes dropping to the side.

“And, Dirk?” You wait until he looks back at you with a tightly controlled expression. “You deserve better than this, too.”

There’s no reaction to that in his face, but you see his wings tense and twitch just slightly. You bite your lip and keep rubbing his cheek as you consider pressing the point, but...you think you’ve already pushed too much today. You give him another smile and step back to pick up your waterskin again. “In any case! It’s about time for me to get back, but let me help you get these up to your cave, first.”

He still looks tense when you shoot him a wink over your shoulder, but you keep your grin up as the two of you arrange the waterskins in his cave and exchange promises to see each other tomorrow. When you turn your back and start walking back to Skaia, though, you let your smile fall into a worried frown.

You really do think that Dirk is doing better since telling you about his past, but...wowzers. There’s still such a long way to go, and here you are without a map to guide you. You keep your gaze locked on the trail you’ve slowly worn into the forest over the weeks, brow furrowed, and wish that the path to getting Dirk out of this place were so easy to follow.

* * *

 

You’re still a little discomfited about the whole thing when you get back to town, but you try to shake it off as you step into Jane’s tavern for a late lunch. You find Jane and Roxy sitting at a table near the bar with the Villein, while his usual companions--the Peregrine Mendicant and the Aimless Renegade--eat at a table closer to the entrance. Only the latter seem to notice your entrance, so you clear your throat and call out a greeting to the other table.

Jane looks up and flashes a quick smile at you. “Welcome back, Jake! Take a seat; we’ll be with you in a minute.”

“Oh, er, alright,” you say, but she’s already turned back to the other two. While you’re shifting your weight by the door, the Mendicant waves you over to their table.

You take a breath and join them.

“Hello, Jake!” The Mendicant pushes the last of her meal aside and smiles at you. “You can sit with us while you wait. How are you? We haven’t seen you around town very much lately.”

You laugh, hopefully not too awkwardly. “I’ve been spending some time out in the woods, actually! An adventurer’s got to get out and rough it in the wilderness every so often, you know.” You wink.

The Renegade nods. “Very true, very true. You have to keep those skills sharp; never know when you might need them next.” He takes another bite.

The Mendicant leans in and pretends to whisper to you. “The Regulator helped us find our way to Skaia a few years after the Curse, and he’s been convinced that it makes him an Authority on wilderness travel ever since,” she says.

“You three were hopelessly lost without me, and you know it,” he retorts, but you’re distracted.

“‘Regulator’?” you ask. “Oh, did you change your epithet?”

He brightens. “In fact, I did! I will thank you to refer to me as the Authority Regulator. You should consider picking up an epithet as well, Jake. You can never be too careful, and Skaia has already had one close call recently with Miss Jane.”

“Don’t be pushy,” the Mendicant interjects, nudging the Regulator. “He doesn’t have to if he doesn’t want to.”

“Of course not, but he should do it anyway,” the Regulator says. He turns back to you and gestures with his fork for emphasis. “Even if you think it is just a superstition, it does not hurt anything, and if there is any chance that it makes it harder for the Curse to find you...well, why not?”

You can see the Mendicant gearing up to argue with him, and you quickly say, “I actually had an epithet for a while, right after the Curse! People knew me as the Page, but my gran was a little opposed to that idea, so I dropped it when I moved in with her. I’m happy to stick with Jake, though, honestly.” You wink.

(Really, what she’d said was, “No family of mine is going to go around without a proper name to be known by. Your name is Jake English, child, and you should wear it proudly.”

...You miss your grandma. You haven’t figured out how to tell her, yet, that you won’t be coming back to Prospit until spring.)

The Regulator huffs, pulling you out of your thoughts. Before he can say anything more, though, you’re interrupted by a commotion at the other table. The three of you turn to look as Roxy slaps her hand down on the table and leans back. Her voice rises in frustration. “You  _ just said _ that the farmers need to keep at least fifteen percent of their yield in their personal stores, but now you’re saying that the Villein is expected to trade out ninety percent of his corn? Sorry, did I miss something?”

“Apparently yes,” Jane says, tapping her fingers against the table. “Okay, this clearly isn’t working. Why don’t we nix this idea, you can stick to handling the nuts and bolts of the tavern, and I’ll take care of this side of things?”

“Oh, sure,” Roxy says. “Why not? It’s not like I put in a bunch of work to learn all this stuff to help you or anything. But yeah, I’ll go back to the unskilled labor. Way to make me feel appreciated.”

The Villein signs something, and Roxy shakes her head at him, smiling. “Not you, li’l dude. You’re cool.” She gives him a thumbs up, which he returns.

Jane, on the other hand, sighs. “You did put in a lot of effort, and golly, I really do appreciate it, but this just doesn’t seem to be your thing. I’ve been handling this for years, and I think it’s easier on everyone if I keep on handling it.”

Roxy grins. “Okay, that’s fine, that’s great! You’ve been  _ handling _ it for years, sure. I’ll just stand back and watch you work yourself to death again, but hey, it’s okay! Because you’re  _ handling _ things, so what could possibly go wrong?”

You wince and share a wide-eyed look with the other two at your table, but none of you dare butt in as Jane frowns. “This isn’t remotely the same as that, and you know it, buster! Stop exaggerating. What’s gotten into you, anyway? Your attitude has been pretty darn abysmal lately, and it’s really getting on my last nerve. I thought you wanted to help?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, am I being too needy?” Roxy asks. “You haven’t exactly been a treat to deal with yourself, Little Miss Know-It-All.”

“Yes, call me names; that’ll make me take you seriously,” Jane says, rolling her eyes. “You’ve been behaving like a child this whole week, and I’ve had it up to here with it. If you don’t want to help, then don’t help, but this whole act of yours needs to stop.”

Roxy leans in, grin widening. “A week, huh? Gee, I wonder what changed a week ago? Is sober Roxy a little too much for you to  _ handle? _ Surely the great Jane Crocker isn’t regretting pushing me to stop drinking.”

Jane straightens and glares. “That’s enough, Roxy. This has nothing to do with your drinking, and everything to do with how you’ve been acting these last few days. I’m disappointed that you’d try to use your alcoholism to excuse some really shoddy behaviors instead of just taking responsibility for yourself.”

Roxy flinches a little at that, but she recovers quickly and practically spits, “Ooh, you’re going with the stern fatherly disapproval, huh? Wonder where you picked that up from, or have you just been holding onto it for all these years?” You suck in a breath as Jane’s expression briefly contorts, but Roxy keeps going, tone increasingly sharp. “Nice of you to bring it out now instead of at any point during the last decade, though. Makes a girl wonder if maybe you actually preferred it when I was drunk all the time.”

“At least then you weren’t so much of a brat!” Jane shouts. Beside her, the Villein claps his hands to his mouth, eyes wide, and looks between them in shock.

Roxy reels back a little before getting to her feet, mouth set in an angry smile. “Well, fuck, I somehow didn’t expect you to actually admit to it, but thanks for the fuckin’ honesty. I’ll just take my brattiness elsewhere so you won’t be bothered by it. Wouldn’t want to put too much on your plate.” She turns and stalks past your table to the door, and you’re too stunned to try to stop her.

As the door slams shut, Jane leans on the table and digs her hands into her hair, breathing heavily. The Villein hesitantly reaches out a hand and touches her shoulder. She looks up, glancing quickly across all your faces, and scrubs her hand against her nose.  _ “Shoot,” _ she breathes, taking to her feet as well. “Roxy, wait!”

Jane is out the door a second later, and the four of you left behind fall into a deeply awkward silence. You stare at the surface of the table in front of you, not meeting anyone else’s eyes, and wonder if you could just excuse yourself without making things even more uncomfortable.

While you’re considering this, the Villein shuffles over to the three of you and sits in the fourth seat. “Well,” the Mendicant finally says with forced cheer, “that was certainly unexpected!”

“Although, perhaps we should have been expecting it,” the Regulator adds. He’s poking studiously at the last bits of food on his plate when you look up in surprise. “Roxy is a nice girl, of course, and skilled with machinery, but she is a little too devoted to Dionysus even without the alcohol.”

That...doesn’t seem entirely fair to you, and you shift uncomfortably. Even playing party to whatever argument Jane and Roxy are probably having right now is starting to sound better than this. “You know, they both looked pretty upset. Maybe I should go after them. If you’ll pardon me...”

Before you can get to your feet, though, the Mendicant shakes her head at you and motions for you to stay. “No, don’t worry; they’ll work things out, and you might as well wait with us until they’re back. Jane can handle it! If she can wrangle Noir, she can manage Roxy.”

The Villein makes a face as he signs something in response to that, and the Regulator scowls and nods agreement with whatever the Villein says. “The Midnight Crew may be useful hunters,” he says, “but Noir is an honorless scoundrel. If not for Miss Jane’s influence, I would be inclined to throw him in the slammer for his atrociously antisocial behavior--at the very  _ least _ .”

The vehemence takes you by surprise. “Is he really so bad?” you ask despite yourself. Sure, he seems abrasive from your few interactions with him, but both the Regulator and the Villein look absolutely disgusted, and the Mendicant’s expression is quickly shifting to look downright murderous.

“He’s  _ horrible,”  _ she says. “If Jane hadn’t come by when she did and put a stop to everything, I would have given him the beatdown he deserved that very first day.”

“Noir is deplorable,” the Regulator agrees. “He was the first Skaian we came across on the outskirts of town, and he had the gall to mock us for mourning our comrade, who had succumbed to the Curse mere hours before.”

The Mendicant jumps in while you’re still blinking in shock. “And then he stabbed the Villein and tried to make out like it was a casual greeting!” She glares past you, towards the door, and flexes her fists. “I should have decked him.”

The Villein reaches over and pats her arm in a conciliatory manner before signing something to you. The Mendicant sighs and translates, “He says that Jane sorted everything out quickly enough, but if she hadn’t shown up when she had, we would never have settled here.” She looks down at the table, lips twisting into a grimace. “Noir might be a necessary part of the Midnight Crew, but I can’t stand him. Ridiculing us for mourning the Questant…” She shakes her head.

You're not sure if you should ask, but... “The Questant?”

The Mendicant nods. “Yes, the Windswept Questant. The Villein and I met her on the other side of the mountain range, and the three of us decided to travel north together. I, of course, knew all the best travel routes.” She puffs up a little bit in pride. “I used to be a courier, you know! I made trips between Prospit and Derse all the time, back when things were normal.”

Her enthusiasm fades as she continues. “In fact, I was on the way to Derse to make a delivery when the Curse hit, but by the time I got there, there was nobody left. I wandered the regionfor a while, hoping to find answers, and I eventually came across the Villein. He was in a bad way, but I managed to patch him up!” She smiles at the Villein, who beams and signs something back. The Mendicant laughs, a little sadly. “Even if his voice never returned.”

The Regulator chimes in. “So those two bumbled around in a plague-ridden wasteland for a couple of years until they ran across the Questant, and the three of them decided they would try to brave the eastern edge of the mountains without the proper preparations. They stumbled almost directly into my Apocalyptic Rampart because  _ some people _ have no sense of direction.”

“Oh, hush,” the Mendicant says. “I knew the route perfectly well, thank you! But when the Questant fell ill…” she trails off and looks down. “We were desperate for help. I thought I had found a shortcut.”

The Regulator sighs, and you swallow, looking at the table so you don’t have to see their faces. You know how these stories end. “I managed to get us to this side of the mountains, several miles east of here,” the Regulator says, “but crossing the river was too much for the Questant by that point.”

“And then Noir showed up with his stupid face and asked us why we were bothering to stand around crying when there was work to be done!” the Mendicant spits. “Oooh, I hate him. I hate him so much.”

“Not to mention the damage he dealt the Villein with his so-called ‘greeting,’” the Regulator agreed. “The man is lucky that the Midnight Crew needs him to function.”

“That’s a humdinger of a first impression, alright,” you agree.

The Mendicant nods. “Jane keeps him under control, for the most part, so we let him be. But if he tries anything like that again…” she cracks her knuckles.

Behind you, the door swings open again, and you all turn to watch Jane and Roxy walk back in. You don’t see any signs of the frustration and tension they’d been carrying earlier, but on the other hand they both look exhausted. You’re pretty sure that Roxy has been crying, too, but she glances up and offers you a small, tired smile.

Jane walks directly to the table where you’re all sitting and addresses the Villein. “I’m sorry to inconvenience you like this, but do you think you could come back tomorrow to try again? I think we’re done for the day.”

The Villein smiles widely at her and signs what you assume is his agreement. He slides out of his chair, and the Mendicant and the Regulator follow suit.

Jane smiles and steps aside to let them pass. “Thanks, I really appreciate it.”

You hesitate, unsure whether you should follow them, but Roxy pats your shoulder as she moves past you to take the Regulator’s seat, and you stay put. She immediately hunches over the table, resting the side of her head on crossed arms, and quirks her lips to smile at you from an angle. “Hey, Jakey,” she says, unusually quiet. “Sorry ‘bout all that. How are you?”

You pat her elbow and return her smile with a good sight more exuberance. “I’m doing pretty dandy, myself. Erm. How are you?” You flit your eyes back and forth between her and Jane.

“Been better,” Roxy admits.

“Pretty goshdarn tired,” Jane agrees. She steps away from the table and goes around the bar. “You know what sounds good right now? Soup. I’m getting us all soup.”

“Sounds great, Janey,” Roxy says. “Thanks.” Her eyes slip shut, and you frown, biting your lip. She looks so exhausted; it’s worrying.

You keep your voice low as you ask, “Say, Roxy, are you quite sure you’re right as rain?”

She puffs out a single ‘ha’ against her arm. “Let’s just say that sobering up sure ain’t all it’s cracked up to be,” she mutters.

Oh. You wince and glance between her and Jane before returning your attention to Roxy. “Do you, um, do you want to talk about it?”

She opens one eye to peer at you, and there’s a trace of amusement in her voice when she answers. “Look, Jake, it’s nice of you to offer ‘n all, but I just went a couple of rounds with Jane on this, and I’m kind of feeling all feelings-ed out, you know? Let’s maybe talk about something else.”

“Oh!” You chuckle awkwardly, chastising yourself for being too presumptive. “Of course, of course. Um. So, how are those rifles coming?"

Roxy’s one visible eye narrows as she peers at you, but after a second she shrugs. “Eh, I haven’t really had a lot of time or energy to work on them, lately,” she says, sitting up as Jane returns with a tray of bread and soup.

“Oh. Right.” You look down into the bowl of soup that Jane places in front of you and fidget with the spoon.

Jane sits across from you, and Roxy smiles brightly at her as she picks up her spoon. “Thanks for the soup.”

“You’re welcome! That’s one nice thing about the autumn, at least: Cooler weather is soup weather, hoo hoo.” Jane winks.

The comment makes you think of your resolution to get Dirk into Skaia by winter, though, and the resulting wreck of a conversation with him. You wince. It really has been a hell of a day, hasn’t it? And it’s barely mid-afternoon.

At least things with Jane and Roxy seem to have sorted themselves out, you think as you start eating. You focus in on their conversation (light gossip about Ms. Paint, apparently) and just try to relax and enjoy the company and good food while the tense atmosphere from earlier slowly dissipates.

* * *

To your immense relief, Jane and Roxy really do seem to have figured things out between them. You occasionally catch a sharp remark, but it never escalates to that point again.

Now, if only everything with Dirk could be resolved so easily. “I mean, it could have been worse,” he says one evening, twisting his wrists to display his hands and arms in the light of the fire. “They’re sure as hell not the most aesthetically pleasing, but the skin is tough and the talons are useful for hunting and shit like that. I doubt it was the intent when I was cursed, but they’ve actually come in pretty fucking useful living out in the woods like this.” His lips quirk into a small smirk. “Handy, you might say.”

You give him a smile for the wordplay, but your heart isn’t in it. You suppose it’s good that he’s looking on the bright side about all this, but you sort of suspect that it’s just performative drivel. “What were they like, before?” you ask.

His expression shutters, and he looks down. His hands, previously held splayed out for you to see, withdraw and close into loose fists. “Does it matter?”

“Of course it matters! They were yours.”

“No, they weren’t. They were the gods’,” he says, voice quiet. “I was beautiful, sure, maybe some parts of me still are. But it was just so that the Knight would be taken in. If anything, these are more ‘me’ than my hands ever were.” When you ask him what he means by that, he snorts. “What do you  _ think _ I mean? Just look at them. Destructive, corrupted.” He runs a thumb over one of the talons on his other hand. “Wrong.”

It takes a moment for you to find your voice. “Well, pardon my Latin, but that’s a steaming pile of shit! The absolute shittiest.” You scoot around the fire until you can catch his hands in your own. “Maybe you're right about them being more 'you’ than the first set was, maybe you're not, but either way I think they're friggin great.”

Dirk's lips twitch down, and you just know that he's about to spin everything on its head again until he can look through that topsy turvey reflection and see the monster he  _ isn't _ , so you cut him off by lifting his hands in both of yours. He’s not listening to you, so you'll have to show him, dagnabit.

His fingers spasm in surprise when you brush your lips against their backs, and you smile as you trace the strange rough-smooth texture up the length of one hand. The slight catch between each smooth scale makes your lips tingle until you press more firmly against the bumps of his knuckles. “They’re very pretty, you know,” you murmur into the backs of his hands, and you feel his breath stir your hair as it rushes out of him.

You don’t look up to check his expression, certain that catching his eyes will break whatever spell is keeping him silent and still. Instead, you shift his tense hands in your own so that they’re resting palm up and kiss the inside of his left wrist. With your thumb rubbing circles into the joint of his other wrist, you mouth the strong tendons and follow the dips between to the meat of Dirk’s palm. His hands shake a little, and you smile into the base of his thumb.

The tips of his talons rest at the curve of your throat like this, just under your jaw. Maybe that should send a thrill down your spine, spark the nerves in your hindbrain, but...it doesn’t. It feels comforting. Safe. It’s just Dirk, and this close intimacy--the feeling of his skin against your lips and the slow burn of arousal it kindles in you--is something you’ve been craving. Your eyes slide shut as you touch the tip of your tongue to the creases in his palm and shiver.

You’re dragging your mouth down his palm to his fingers when he seems to find his voice again. “Jake, stop,” he manages, sounding very affected by your ministrations. It jolts through you, and you want to drag him down and kiss him.

But you stop, still bowed over his hands, and rub your thumbs over his palms. “What’s wrong?”

The answer is quick and sharp.  _ “This _ is wrong. How can you not see how wrong this is? You shouldn’t be doing this.”

You sigh. His fingers twitch as your breath slides over them, and you regretfully sit up straight to meet his eyes. They’re wide over tightly pressed lips, and you frown. “I have to say, chum, whatever it is that’s so obvious to you is flying right over my head. Everything about this feels--well, it feels pretty flipping fantastic, to me. And I want it to feel fantastic for you, too.” You squeeze his hands for emphasis.

You’re unprepared for him to yank them out of your grasp and tuck them in close to his chest.  _ “I’m going to ruin you,”  _ he spits, almost vicious if not for the undercurrent of pain, and he curls in on himself as he turns away from you to face the fire. His head drops forward, arms and wings both hunching.

Shit. You rub your fingertips together and watch him, stomach sinking. You pushed too hard. But you don’t know how else to get it through to him that the only thing  _ wrong _ here is how he sees himself.

Nervous and more than a little worried about being rebuffed, you shuffle closer until you’re sitting shoulder to shoulder with him. You carefully lean in. He goes tense for a second, and you brace yourself for him to push you away or just stand up and walk away himself, but then he sighs and relents. His wing comes around to drape across your back, and you let out a breath of relief.

It takes a lot longer for you to coax his hand out so that you can hold it, but eventually you manage, and the two of you stare into the flames. The color reminds you of his eyes, as it always does, but for the first time you wonder if the gods designed it that way. If they intentionally made his beautiful eyes the exact color of an ember catching flame, knowing what was waiting for him when they sent him down from Olympus.

He was created to punish humanity for stealing fire, after all.

You don’t like the thought, and you’re grateful when Dirk starts talking and draws you away from it. “I know you think I’m something good,” he says, and it comes out rough, like he has to drag the words out of his throat. “Something kind, something gentle, something to be cared for. And, shit, I want to be that for you. I’m  _ trying _ to be that for you.” He stops for a moment and takes a few breaths while you watch the side of his face in concern.

He doesn’t look at you when he clears his throat and continues. “I’m trying, but...fuck, Jake.You need to understand that I’m not this person that you think I am. I’m  _ not. _ You keep telling me that I’m pretty, or handsome, or beautiful, but you don’t really get it. I’m--of  _ course _ I’m beautiful. Of  _ course _ I’m pretty, and handsome, and striking, and interesting, and appealing. Of course I am.”

The flickering flames reflect in his eyes as he glares into the fire. “Literally everything about me was designed to trick people into liking me,  _ trusting  _ me, and you’re falling for it. I’ve tried to warn you, damn it, but you won’t fucking listen. You just…” The frustrated energy that’s built in his voice trails away as he sighs. “You just keep coming back and telling me that I’m  _ good. _ You’re walking blindly into a trap, and I’m trying to get you to open your eyes before it’s too late, but…”

He trails off again. You don’t know what to say. You’d thought that the two of you had more or less settled this, but you realize with a sinking sensation that he despite whatever appearances he’s kept up, he hasn’t made any progress at all since the day you shouted at him. Not really.

You tighten your grip on his hand, eyes still locked on the side of his face, and you say nothing.

Dirk glances at you from the corner of his eye before returning his gaze to the fire. “I look at you, and I think about all the ways I’m going to hurt you, no matter how hard I try not to, and I know that you’ll walk into it with arms wide open, just like they did, like you’re  _ already doing, _ and--” his voice cracks “--I wish with  _ everything I am  _ that the Court’s curse had done a better job, so that you could look at me and understand how much of a threat I am to you.” He stops and takes a few slow breaths before continuing. “I just...fuck. I love you, okay? I love you. But I don’t want to hurt you.  _ Fuck.” _ He lifts the hand that you don’t have clutched in a white-knuckled grip and covers his eyes, biting his lip as he shakes with the effort of keeping himself contained.

And you...you’re not prepared for this. You have his wing trembling against your back and his hand in yours, both of you holding to each other desperately, and you have no idea what you can say to fix this. Your heart is in your stomach, you’re reeling from everything he’s just laid before you, and it feels like that moment with the jar all over again.

Your breath hitches at the thought, but you lean into Dirk a little harder and realize: It’s nothing like that day. Then, Dirk had clawed at you, pushed you away, hidden himself from you, and held his emotions in until he absolutely couldn’t anymore. Now, he’s got you curled under his wing, leaning against him, and he’s clutching your hand like a lifeline as he lays his heart bare at your feet.

And that, you think, is your answer for what to do, even if the thought is absofuckinglutely terrifying. You lift your joined hands and loop your arm over his head so that you can wrap it over his shoulders, hands clasped across his chest. The motion dislodges his other hand, and he curls it into a fist in his lap, head bowed and eyes closed.

You twist a little so that you can pull him in against your chest and slide your other hand into his hair. His breath hitches again, but he moves with you, feathers shuffling as his wing resettles across your shoulder.

Now for the hard part. You swallow and keep petting him, trying to sort your emotions into words. It was so much easier when you were riding a wave of frustration and just blurted everything out. But Dirk deserves better than that, especially like this. You take a deep breath and give it your best shot.

“It’s a choice, you know?” you tell him. “Being around you. You’re not-- _ bewitching  _ me , or anything like that. That is to say, you’re a handsome fellow, certainly!” You squeeze him briefly. “But I like to think that I’m not so much of a puddle hopper as to be swayed by a pretty face.” You clear your throat and feel your ears heat up. This is a lot harder to talk about when you’re not half out of your head with frustration, but you force yourself to keep going. It helps that you don’t have to meet his eyes. “Every bit of my regard, you’ve more than earned, and the gods had all of jack, diddly, and squat to do with it.”

He laughs humorlessly. “You had my talons at your fucking neck and didn’t even care. The one part of me that's actually  _ honest, _ that should warn you away, and you're so far gone that even that wasn't enough to dissuade you.”

“Because I trust you,” you say, and he flinches.

“You shouldn't.”

“Well, I do. I trust that you don’t want to hurt me, and that you'll try your best to avoid it. And look at how right I was! See? I know you better than you think.” You take a deep breath and try to ignore how your fingers shake against his scalp. “And...I really like what I see. Not just on the outside, although you really are a looker, but, you know. You’re pretty fantastic on the inside, too. I want you to see that like I do.” You kiss his hair.

He's quiet and still for a moment, and then the tension holding him stiff abruptly disappears. He buries his face in your chest and presses his wing tight to your shoulder, shaking. “I don't deserve you,” he chokes out.

You grip his hand. “Well, deserving or not, you've got me. And I'm not going anywhere.”

You hold him against you as he shudders through his fears, and you hope that this time it'll stick. Words can’t express how much you really don’t want to go through this on a regular basis. It was hard enough that first time when you found the jar, and the repetition isn’t really making it easier.

Still, the fact that he’s being open like this means that no matter how much he might think he should push you away, some part of him has come to terms with keeping you close. Jiminy cricket, he just told you that he  _ loves _ you, even if it was in the middle of some kind of break down. You suppose you both managed to botch the romantic delivery on that particular sentiment, and you muffle a snort in Dirk’s hair. What a pair you make.

You sober quickly as Dirk sighs and finally goes lax, leaning into you heavily. You shift your weight so you can hold him up and keep petting his hair. Maybe this is what progress really looks like, you think: A slow, uncertain trek filled with missteps and mistakes and nearly as many steps backwards as you take forwards. You grimace at the thought because honestly, that sounds absolutely friggin  _ awful,  _ but if it’s what Dirk needs to get past this…

Well. Your throat feels tight as you swallow down your hopes for an easy fix. It’s a bitter draught, but for Dirk, you think you can do it.

* * *

You find yourself spending more and more time in the forest with Dirk after that. You make an effort to check in with Jane and Roxy periodically, but you’re so focused on Dirk that you, er, perhaps don’t spend as much time with your friends in Skaia as you should. In your defense, Roxy still tends to work late with Jane, and there’s something really nice about having the quiet house to yourself for a few hours.

All the same, it means you're not keeping close tabs on their comings and goings, so you find yourself just slightly startled when Roxy plops down next to you while you're eating dinner in Jane’s tavern one evening.

“So, Jake, I had this fuckin’ awesome idea for your rifle,” Roxy says, apropos of nothing. “You use throwing knives, yeah? On both sides?” She nods down to the sheaths strapped to either side of your hips.

You nod, and she grins. “And you’ve gotta be good at dual-wielding those suckers, right?”

“Not to toot my own horn or anything, but I’d say that I certainly know my way around them,” you agree.

Her lips stretch even wider. “So if I were to, say, give you two smaller hand-held rifles instead of one bigger one like the kind I’ve got, you’d think that was pretty fuckin’ slick, right?”

Your jaw drops. “Slicker than a slug on a slide, yes, hell yes! That sounds friggin’ amazing, Roxy.” You can picture it, and your cheeks hurt with the force of your grin. “Can you really manage that?”

“Pretty sure, yep!” she chirps. She leans in and catches your eyes. “And they come at the low, low price of keeping your frickin’ keister in town for the winter.”

“Oh!” You realize, a little belatedly, that you still haven’t told anyone about your decision. You really need to write that letter to your gran, cripes. For now, though, you raise your drink in toast. “My good Roxy,” you say, affecting the snooty tone you've heard in the rare stage performances that still go on after the Curse, “I would be honored to accept!”

She squeals and hugs you around the ribs, babbling excitedly. You laugh, and when Jane comes over to investigate the commotion, you get to see her pleased smile, too. It looks like things have finally settled down around here.

There's only one thing missing from the celebratory moment, and you're determined to have him in here with you before the first snow.

* * *

Now that you’ve made up your mind to stay through the winter, Roxy comes through on your guns (“Pistols, Jake; I’m calling the smaller ones pistols.”) even sooner than you had thought to hope. She takes you aside one afternoon when you come back from the forest and presents them to you.

“Okay, so I adjudicated--wait, no, adjusted--the lever for lighting the powder so you can flick it with your thumb, and I shortened the barrels so they would be light enough to carry one-handed,” she says, lifting the two metal contraptions for you to examine. “Check it.”

Your eyes widen as you take one in each hand. “Holy toledo, Roxy, these are fantastic!” You flip them around in your hands to take them in.

Roxy’s grin is incandescent. “I know, right? I’m the best, it’s me.” As she directs your attention to the various components of the pistols and shows you how they function, you have to agree. This is honestly fucking  _ spectacular _ ; you’ve never seen anything like it, and you can barely believe that she put them together so quickly.

“Really, Roxy, this is incredible,” you tell her once she’s finished giving you the tour. “You’ve got a real spark, you know?”

Her grin turns bashful. “Aw, come on, I told you before: Anyone could do it. I just happened to have the time to actually mess around with them. Oh, but hey! Check this out, I totally made holsters for you, too.” And she dangles a set of leather holsters from her fingers.

You shake your head, amazed. “How in the world did you get all of this finished so quickly?” you ask, trading the pistols for the holsters. You take off the holsters for your throwing knives and swap them for the pistol holsters, letting Roxy take your old kit for now. When you tuck the new pistols in, you can’t help bouncing slightly in excitement. They look  _ fantastic,  _ wow, Roxy’s really outdone herself this time!

Roxy shrugs, eyeing the guns and holsters over critically. “Worked out a deal with Jane so I had some more spare time for them.” She looks up to meet your eye again and twitches the corner of her mouth into a wry smile. “And maybe got my head straightened out a little bit. So it turns out that sobering up is kind of godawful? Kind of really fuckin’ godawful, in fact. Like, holy shit, do not want to do that again, zero out of ten, that was not what I had in mind when I said I was gonna be a whole new me.”

You look down, still thumbing over the grip of one of the pistols. “I have to say, you...didn’t seem yourself.”

She sighs and leans away, fiddling with your knives. “Maybe, or maybe that’s what I’m really like when it comes down to the wire. I dunno.”

You grimace and push away your discomfort with the idea. “Well, in any case, you seem to be feeling a lot better now! You’ve been posilutely chipper.”

It makes her laugh, and you sigh a breath of relief. “Yeah, getting here may have sucked balls, but actually being sober feels pretty great. If nothing else, I’ve been a hell of a lot more productive.” She grins and winks.

“And on that note, thank you again for these!” you say, flipping one of the pistols out of its holster and into your palm. “They’re really something else.”

“Hey, it just means you have to stick around, now!” She laughs and juggles your knives into one hand so she can lightly punch you in the shoulder with the other. “You promised, Jakey boy.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” you assure her. “I’m not going anywhere.” You still have a ways to go with Dirk and his myriad issues. Oh! Speaking of-- “Hey, Roxy, your ears are pierced, right?”

Roxy raises an eyebrow and flips her hair back to show you the pink stud in her left ear. “Yep, pierced them myself. Why do you ask?”

You smile. “Think you could show me how to do it?”

* * *

Dirk’s initial reaction when you show him your new pistols the next evening is a raised eyebrow, but he gets much more curious when you explain what you know of their function. “Huh,” he says, cradling one in his hands. “And you said Roxy made these?”

“Yeppers!” you confirm. “Amazing, isn’t it? That’s one wily lass with a bright future ahead of her.” You tap your left hip, where the other pistol is still strapped in place. “Who needs throwing knives when I’ve got these beauties, right?”

Dirk chuckles and hands it back to you. “No kidding. Alright, show me how they work.”

You snap off a cheeky salute and, remembering how Roxy’s prototype rifle had shattered the bark of a tree, set up so that you’re facing into the forest. You spot a curious squirrel perched on a rock near the edge of the clearing, and you grin. “Hey, Dirk, how do you feel about squirrel for dinner?” you ask, drawing your pistols with a flourish. “Tally ho!”

You aim and fire with both pistols, one after the other, and the gunpowder in each ignites with a flash- _ bang! _ You blow the smoke off of the pistols and spin them on your index fingers before tucking them back into your holsters. Pleased, you survey the damage.

Erm.

Well, the squirrel is still there, now staring at you in frozen panic, but it’s very much alive and unharmed. Instead, a tree off to the left is now sporting a distinct hole in its bark, and a rock several feet to the right will forever mourn the loss of several shards. You scratch your head in befuddlement and look down at the pistols.

Behind you, Dirk makes a muffled noise of amusement. “So, uh, you think that maybe you were a little optimistic about ditching your knives so soon?” he asks.

You turn to him, cheeks puffing out. “Now see here, this is harder than it looks!”

He laughs outright and comes closer, shaking his head. “I’m sure it is.” One wing stretches out to nudge your shoulder, and you drop your pout, running your fingers over the feathers as he pulls it back. He smiles and tilts his head back towards his cave. “Dinner? I have some vegetables I can cook for us.”

You settle near the fire and chat while he rustles up dinner, and eventually he asks you to grab a few more ingredients from his food storage. You’re quick to agree and get to your feet, but you hesitate at the wall, trying to remember which of his containers he uses for food. “It’s this one, right?” you ask, glancing over your shoulder.

Dirk looks up and goes perfectly still. You immediately freeze with your hand on the lid, stomach dropping. “No,” he says after a moment, voice tight. He doesn’t make a move towards you, though, just says, “Two to your right.”

You draw your hand back and follow his instructions, collecting the vegetables with hands that shake just a little bit. As you return to Dirk, he chuckles, tension slowly sliding away. “I thought moving it to a different spot would do the trick, but you’ve got a knack for stumbling across the exact wrong places, don’t you?”

You wince and drop your gaze as you sit down again. “Sorry.”

The sensation of talons in your hair comes as a surprise, and you look up in time to see Dirk pull his hand back again, studiously staring at the fire. “It’s okay,” he says. His wings pull in tighter for a moment before relaxing again. “I trust you.”

You’re not sure what to say to that, but it makes something warm bloom in your chest, and you smile to yourself as he finishes cooking. His wing falls against you when he sits down to eat with you, and the conversation ebbs and flows between bites.

When you finish, you lean back into his wing a little and run your fingers over the longer feathers at the end. Dirk’s been much more relaxed about letting you touch him, lately, and as a result it’s been hard to keep your hands off him--not that you’ve really been putting much effort into it, admittedly. You tilt your head back to rest against his shoulder. Lulled by your full stomach, the warm fire, and the comfort of Dirk surrounding you, you quietly admit, “I wish you could just abandon this place and come with me.”

Dirk is still against you for a few seconds before he abruptly sighs. “Me, too,” he murmurs. You sit together in somber silence until he shifts beside you and nudges you off his shoulder. “Hey.”

“Hm?” You look up at him, and he’s closer than you expected. You blink, caught by the reflection of light in his fiery eyes, and the next thing you know he’s cupping your cheek in one hand and bringing your lips together.

It’s the first time he’s initiated like this, and your heart swells into your throat. Your eyes flicker shut on his nervous expression, and you lean into the kiss. It spreads warmth through you as you tilt your head and adjust the angle, but the fire in your belly stays at a low simmer. This is more about comfort, you think, and you bring a hand up to curl around the back of his hand as he runs the pad of his thumb across your cheek.

As he does, you feel only the faintest brush against your eyebrow from the tip of his talon, meticulously held away from the fragile structure of your eye. He’s always so careful, you think, and you smile, feeling his mouth soften against yours. The hard points of his claws trace over and around your ear as the tension slowly drains out of him. It sends a shiver down your spine. This is...nice, you decide. Soothing. Exactly what you both need right now.

It’s not a long kiss, though, and his fingers trail down the length of your jaw as you pull apart. You open your eyes and hold his gaze for a few seconds, quiet, until Dirk clears his throat and turns back to the fire. His hand twists to hold yours as he lets it fall between you. “So, uh. I don’t know about you, but I’m pretty tired all of the sudden. Do you want to go to bed?”

Your heart jolts, and you hardly dare to think that he’s inviting you to sleep with him--but when you agree and stand up with him, he motions you over to his bed while he banks the fire. Christopher fucking kringle, he means it.

Anticipation kicks you in the gut, and you hesitate at the edge of the firelight, not wanting to question this but not wanting to risk getting it wrong, either. You shift your weight, uncertain. Fuck, you have to ask. “Dirk, are you…?”

Dirk looks up at you, and his cheeks glow pink. “I thought--if you want. Just to sleep.” He looks back at the fire again, and you can see the nervous tension in him.

Okay, alright. You take a deep breath and turn to change into pajamas. The light from the fire flickers out right as you crawl into his bed, tugging his furs over you. You will your body back down as you settle in, but you still have to bite your lip as you listen to Dirk move around in the dark and get in beside you.

You stare at the indistinct shape of him and you are  _ in his bed with his naked body right there _ , cripes, you maybe didn’t think this through. It’s just sleeping, you remind yourself. Don’t get ahead of yourself.

Dirk shuffles closer and clears his throat. “Could you lie on your back?” he asks. “It’ll be easier--the wings--”

“Right-o, of course,” you say quickly and reposition. He lets out a breath that spills over the side of your neck, and you feel your own lungs empty in a rush. Crikey.  _ Down boy, _ you think, shifting a hand to cover your crotch. You get the feeling that it’s going to be hard to fall asleep tonight.

Worth it, though, you decide when one of his wings drags across your body to drape over you under the cover of the furs. It rests heavy over you from shoulder to knee, and you twitch your hand to feel the soft barbs rustle over your bare arm. You take a long, steadying breath and try to relax.

You wish each other a good night, and then the minutes pass in agonizing quiet as you lie there, hyperaware of him breathing as he lays on his belly just a few inches away. Slowly, the tension in you unwinds, and your eyelids start to feel heavy.

Even like this, though, you want to be closer, so you pat around the space between you until you find his hand. He freezes as you rest your fingers against the scaled backs of his. You twitch your fingertips in a quick caress and leave your hand there as you close your eyes and settle back into your pillow.

Just as you’re about to drift off, you feel him carefully shift his hand around to lace your fingers together. You fall asleep with a smile on your face, pleased that he’s coming to trust you as much as you trust him.

It’s...a good feeling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think we all know ~~who’s~~ what’s coming in the next chapter. ;)
> 
> *rubs hands together gleefully* :D


	9. Until the Morning Sun Rises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They bang.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally that rating comes into play. ;3c
> 
> (Chapter title from 2PM’s Love Song: _So I need you, always be by my side / Until your scent is on my body / Until the morning sun rises / We can take our time / Can’t believe you’re mine_  
>  Translation from https://colorcodedlyrics.com/2013/05/2pm-love-song)

In the morning, it takes you a moment to orient yourself. You expected to wake up in your bedroll on the hard ground by Dirk’s bed, but instead you’re lying on a soft bed of thatch and furs with your arm wrapped around the body you’re pressed flush against. As you place yourself and realize that you’re _cuddling up against Dirk in his bed, cripes on a fucking candlestick,_ you feel his wing twitch where it’s draped over you.

The feathers at the upper edge brush over your cheek, and you gently shake your head to dislodge the itch, nudging your nose against Dirk’s shoulder in the process. He’s so _warm_ , wow. Your arm is woven under the base of his near wing, and it rises and falls with his steady breathing.

He’s definitely still asleep, and you take the opportunity to get a look at his face, relaxed and inches away from your own. The dim light filtering through the vines at the mouth of the cave casts long shadows, highlighting the topography of his features. You take a moment to admire the curve of his lips: slack, parted, and slightly chapped. Then you find your attention drawn to the sun-kissed freckles dotting his cheeks, the nearly invisible small scars that come from living in the wilderness, the way his left eyebrow extends just a little farther than his right. You want to trace your fingertip down the bridge of his nose, but one hand is comfortably settled over his ribs and the other is trapped with Dirk’s between you.

It’s probably for the best that you don’t, anyway. You might wake him up, and you’re not sure how he would feel about the morning wood that’s making itself known in your pants. You shift a little so you’re not in danger of poking him and try to relax back into the bed.

You’re awake with no chance of falling back asleep, though, so you lazily trace shapes on his back and drift. One sweep brings you in reach of the base of his opposite wing, and you transition to running your fingers over the place where his skin gives way to feathers. They’re soft against your fingertips, more downy than the rest. You toy with them and just...enjoy the moment.

Eventually, Dirk shifts and stretches a little, and you look up in time to catch his eyelids flutter open. Your breath catches. In the dim shadows, his half-lidded eyes are _molten_ as he gives you a quiet smile, and you brace your hand more firmly against his back just to have something to anchor yourself.

“That’s a fine treat for the peepers to start off the day,” you manage, voice rough with sleep and--other things.

Dirk tenses under your arm, and the spell breaks as he sucks in a breath, expression sharpening. “What--?” he croaks, drawing away from you. You pout and try to follow him, but he disentangles your arm from his wings and sits up fully. “Oh, fuck,” he says, drawing his limbs in tight and hunching over. “Shit, this is--okay, no, fuck, it’s okay.” He’s breathing quickly, not quite hyperventilating but well on his way.

You sit up next to him and put a hand on his arm. He flinches,but a second later puts his hand over yours, holding it against his arm. “Give me a minute,” he gasps and drops his head, eyes closed.

Helpless, you sit and watch him bring himself back under control. It doesn’t take very long, at least. When it’s over, he extends his wing without looking up and drapes it over your shoulders and back. You’re relieved when he lets you lean into his shoulder. “Everything all copacetic?” you ask hesitantly.

“Yeah. Shit, sorry.” He finally uncurls and looks at you, rubbing his face and looking embarrassed, if you’re not missing your mark. “Kind of caught me off-guard. I wasn’t expecting--anyway. Uh, morning.”

...Well, if nothing else, that took care of your, ah, problem downstairs. You shake it off with a hesitant smile and return the greeting. Dirk’s eyes skitter between yours, and he sucks in his breath before abruptly leaning in and giving you a peck on the lips. Face red, he pulls back and gets out of bed, shaking his wings out behind him. “I’ll get started on breakfast,” he says without looking at you. His voice is a little strained.

You’re left blinking after him, and a slow smile spreads across your face. “Sounds grand,” you agree. You sit on the edge of his bed and lean forward, resting your elbows on your knees. “You know, it looks like the blankets did a number on your feathers. Poor things are all mussed up. Maybe I can help you with them after we eat?”

The back of his neck goes pink, but after a second he nods and looks at you over his shoulder. “Yeah. Yeah, I think I’d like that,” he says.

Dirk’s earlier panic slides easily under the rug, and breakfast goes smoothly. Afterwards, you manage to coax Dirk back onto the bed for preening, and he lets his wings sprawl out to either side of his tense, stiff body. He has his arms crossed under his head, helping him to look back over his shoulder at you, and the shine of his watchful eye is a bright point past the dark expanse of his hands and wings.

You settle next to his hip and start running your fingers through his feathers, rearranging the barbs to sit neatly down the length of his wing. Like before, it takes him a few minutes to relax into it, but by the time you switch to his other side, he’s limp against the furs covering his bed.

You take it even slower now, basking in the soft texture of his feathers between your fingertips. They’re looking much better than they were before, and you can only hope that they’ll continue to improve now that you’re helping to preen them more regularly.

Dirk looks nearly asleep again by the time you finish, having sunk his full weight into the bed. You prod his leg, and it rocks gently without his characteristic tension holding it stiff. The motion draws your eye up the length of his leg to his ass.

You swallow. Okay, maybe your downstairs problem didn’t entirely give up the ghost earlier. It’s not even that great of an ass, objectively--which, ha, you should mention that to him sometime and see if that makes him feel better about supposedly bewitching you with his handsome guiles. It’s kind of flat and skinny, and there’s a splash of freckles near the top of his left cheek. You’d like to lick them.

It says something about your luck that Dirk chooses to look back at you right as that thought is going through your mind. “Uh,” he says, and you snap your head up to meet his eyes. His eyebrow quirks, and you _know_ that he knows what you were thinking about.

You clear your throat and shift back, getting to your feet. Your face is burning, and you tug at your collar. “I was just--I didn’t mean--erm, sorry, chum! That wasn’t entirely gentlemanly of me, I must admit, even if I was just admiring the view, of course I wouldn’t--not without--um!”

“Uh...huh.” Dirk rolls and sits up, and his gaze slides down your body...to your crotch.

You spin on your heel and walk back towards the entrance of the cave, trying to subtly adjust your slight boner as you go. You can’t believe you just--you can feel your blush spread down to your chest, and your voice squeaks a little as you ask Dirk if he wants to make a trip out to the river. You’re grateful when he agrees without making mention of your ogling and resulting, er, _excitement,_ and the brisk walk makes short work of what little remained after that mortifying display.

All the same, you can’t help but imagine what it would be like to have him, all those soft feathers rubbing against you as he gasps and moans in your arms…

You end up slipping and falling into the river again, and perhaps that’s for the best.

* * *

You only spend a day in Skaia before heading back to spend the night with Dirk again, and you guiltily avert your eyes from Jane’s frustrated expression as you pass by. Things will be better once you can finally tell her about Dirk, you’re sure. In the meantime, though...you’re grateful that you can escape that tension by visiting Dirk.

Except, when you get out to his cave, Dirk is unusually reserved, an unwelcome return to the way he used to hold you at arm’s length. You spend the afternoon forcing your cheerful grin and trying to ignore the clench of worry in your chest. He never looks at you for more than a second before turning his eyes away, and every time it makes the knot in your stomach twist tighter. You should have kept a better grip on your stupid libido.

By the time the sun goes down, you’ve given up on the possibility of sharing his bed again tonight. It’ll be the bedroll for you. But as you strip off your shirt to change into your sleep clothes, you’re interrupted by the gentlest pressure of Dirk’s talons against the back of your shoulder. You freeze, arms still caught in the sleeves. The touch grows a little firmer, and Dirk presses his palm to your shoulder blade. When you twist to peer at him over your shoulder, he’s looking at you intently, a strange tension in his expression. You raise an eyebrow in question.

He takes a slow breath. “I’m not--I don’t know if I’ll be any good at this,” he says, and something in the timbre of his voice catches in your chest, “but I want to try. With you.”

You let your shirt fall off your arms to the floor and turn to face him. His hand drags over your arm and chest with the motion, leaving his dark talons splayed across your pec. He still hasn’t looked away, and having those burning eyes holding yours like this after a day of averted glances is _intense._ You swallow, but you don’t dare so much as blink to break eye contact. “Dirk?”

He steps closer, definitely in your space now, and you feel the blood rush to your face as he catches you with his gaze. He’s similarly flushed. “You should skip the pajamas tonight,” he says, and oh.

Oh, hell _yes._

Yes, okay, that’s--you can feel your heart pick up the pace as worry gives way to relief gives way to interest, and you break into a wide grin. So _that’s_ what all those looks were about, okay, you can definitely work with this. “I would be posifuckinglutely delighted to oblige,” you inform him, and take him by the hips as you kiss him.

He opens for you easily enough, and you suck on his lip for a minute before diving in to get a taste. His hands come up to brace on your shoulder and around the back of your neck, and you shiver at the feel of his sharp talons playing with the bristly hairs there. Your own arms slide up around his waist and under the bases of his wings, and you pull him flush against you.

He doesn’t go loose in your hold like you were sort of hoping. You can tell he’s trying to relax, but there’s a tension winding through him that refuses to unravel. You try to kiss it out of him, hands playing over the expanse of his back and carding through the feathers where his wings attach.

It doesn’t work. You rest your forehead against his, noses brushing. “This works a lot better if you relax and enjoy it, you know.”

His eyes squeeze shut, and he clenches his jaw, which is a step in the wrong direction and really not what you were aiming for. “I’m trying,” he grits out.

You play your hands over his back and wings and consider him. “Hm. You know, I bet your feet must be awfully sore,” you comment, leaning into the non sequitur. “You sure do a lot of walking and climbing for someone who doesn’t wear shoes! Why don’t you sit down and let me rub them for you?”

He pulls back and opens his eyes, looking at you incredulously. “Jake, what…?”

You rub circles into the bases of his wings and smile when his shoulders marginally relax. Yes, you think this will work just fine. “Trust me! What can it hurt?” You grin and wink at him.

The look Dirk gives you is dubious, but he lets you steer him to sit on the edge of the bed, hunching forward to give his wings room. You kneel at his feet and nearly knock your heads together with how far forward he has to lean. “Er,” you say, sitting back on your heels. “Maybe lie down, instead?”

He huffs and crosses his arms, wings hunching behind him. “This is unnecessary; let’s get back to kissing, and I’ll--I’ll figure it out, come on. It’s fine. You don’t need to do all this.”

You chew on the inside of your lip and tap your fingers on your knee. Even from here, you can see that he’s basically a giant ball of tension right now, and that’s...not really going to work. “And if I want to?” you ask.

That gives him pause, and his expression twists for half a second before going carefully blank. “I don’t see why you should. You don’t get much out of it.”

Well, that’s a load of bullhucky! You purse your mouth and then, thinking better of it, lean up for a quick peck on the lips. It startles Dirk out of his brooding, and he looks down at you with wide eyes. “I get plenty out of it, thanks much!” You reach up and cup his jaw, running your thumb over his cheek. “Let me do this for you.”

He takes a breath, and you can hear how it catches in his chest. “I...alright,” he says, hesitant. “Okay.”

You kiss him again, cradling his face between your palms. It takes him a second to respond, but then he sighs into your mouth, shoulders relaxing the tiniest bit, and rests his hands against your waist. He still doesn't get it, you think, but at least he's trusting you enough to let you try and show him.

You beam at him when you part and get to your feet. “Budge up, now; chop chop!”

For a moment you think he’s going to change his mind, the way he hunches his shoulders. But a second later he sets his jaw and turns to lay on his stomach, almost defiant. You pet his calf soothingly and sit down at the bottom of the bed, pulling his feet into your lap. Without another word--without another chance for him to take this back--you take a closer look at what you’ve got to work with.

The skin on the bottom of his feet is thick and calloused from years of going barefoot in the forest. You dig your thumb into the meat of his heel, and you're honestly not sure he can even feel it. You bite your lip, heart sinking.

So much of Dirk is hardened, now, and even if it's what let him survive the last ten years...you sort of hate it. You think you've been catching glimpses of the person that he was before everything went wrong, and you wish you could take away the armor and let that soft part of him be free. You wish he'd never had to hide and guard that part of himself in the first place.

You roll your thumbs into the arch of his foot, where the callouses aren't so thick, and he groans, muscles and wings twitching as some of the tension releases. You look him over, taking in the elegant curve of his spine as he responds to your touch, and you wonder for the hundredth time how the gods could have possibly done what they did to him. Could they not see how beautiful he is, inside and out? Did they just not care? You don't understand how anyone could see Dirk’s shining, fragile heart laid bare and actively seek to tarnish it.

The injustice of it all paralyzes you for a moment, and you trace your fingertips over the soft skin of Dirk's ankles while you ride out a wave of helpless rage. He should have been allowed to freely experience the world with wide eyes and an open heart. That he was denied that chance just so the gods could use him as a pawn and immediately discard him is so unfair it leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

They can never be forgiven for what they've done.

But...this isn't about the gods. Not here, not now. This is about Dirk. You take a deep breath and let the fury drain away, and a sweet, tender ache take its place in your chest as you look down at Dirk's prone form. Much as you'd like to, you can't change what happened. You can't take away the hurt he's suffered and the ways it's changed him. Maybe, though, you can show him that he doesn't need to be hardened anymore, that it's safe to let that soft, vulnerable part of him come out again.

You squeeze the balls of his feet one last time before sweeping your hands up the backs of his legs and shifting so that you're straddling his thighs. You can’t resist giving him a quick grope and running your thumbs over what little curve he has on a set of admittedly bony buns, pleased when it only gets you the slightest squirm, but you otherwise leave it alone for now and slide your palms up his back to the bases of his wings. There’ll be time for that later.

Dirk hums when you slide your fingers through the small feathers sprouting from his back. You smile and lean forward to drop a kiss on one wing. It twitches, brushing against your nose, and you snort as you sit up and tweak his feathers straight. “Don’t get your feathers all in a twist, now,” you tease, carding your fingers through them again.

Dirk’s voice is molasses slow and muffled when he replies, face still folded in his arms. “You’ll just straighten them out again, anyway.”

The easy assumption, with not a hint of uncertainty, makes something warm bloom through your chest. “That’s right,” you agree, trying not to let the emotion thicken your voice. You brace your palms against the joints where his wings connect to his back, stroking the smaller down feathers with your thumbs and feeling how the muscles and bones fit into your hands. Beneath you, Dirk sighs, and a little more of his tension drains out of him.

His wings flop out to either side like this, and you can see how the tendons closest to his spine strain against the weight of them. Following a suspicion, you scoot up his body until you’re sitting on his hips and trace the bones up to his first set of shoulder blades. When you reach the span of skin just above his wings, you press your palms down.

The wings jolt up towards your hands as Dirk groans, and you feel the muscles fluttering under his skin. You rub slow circles into his upper back, coaxing the mess of knots to soak in the warmth from your hands and relax. “Thought so,” you mutter to yourself. If he’s visibly straining to hold up his wings even when they’re lying flat to either side of him, how much effort must it take to hold his wings folded against his back all day?

One of Dirk’s hands tightens against the fur he’s lying on, claws starting to prick through the fabric, but he lies still and lets you work out the hurt in his shoulders. There’s...a lot of it, you can feel. Holding his wings tight against his back, day after day for years on end, has not done him any favors.

The muscles slowly start to release, and you carefully put a little more pressure on the ones that are still knotted tight. You consider the sight before you. Dirk’s wings are beautiful, especially with his feathers neatly arranged and starting to regain some of their natural sheen now that you’re helping Dirk preen them. They’re striking and lovely and so eye-catching, but… You dig your thumb into a particularly tough knot and hear Dirk puff out a breath of air. He’s trying so hard to stay relaxed for you, and you lean down to press a kiss to the back of his head.

Dirk, with his wings and his talons and his burning eyes, is beautiful in the most dramatic way. The gods made him that way, but in yet another curse disguised as a blessing, it seems like they didn’t put a single solitary thought into making that beauty _comfortable_ for him. His body is incredibly easy on the eyes, but in return it’s brought him nothing but pain and grief.

You want to help him find pleasure in it.

The massage seems like a good place to start, and it’s helping him relax, so you keep it up even as your fingers threaten to cramp. When his shoulders finally fall limp to the bed, muscles worked into submission, you shift to the wings themselves and tease out the tension from the tendons that keep them folded. By the time you finish there and move to run your knuckles over the back of Dirk’s neck, his breaths have started to roll in the back of his throat with every exhale. It almost sounds like he’s purring.

The lax body underneath you is a far cry from the solid block of tension he was when he tried to kiss you earlier. You smile. Alright. Time to give this another whirl.

You scoot back a little and brace your hands on either side of him, in the space between his sides and his wings. There’s a patch of skin between his wings where you doubt anyone but you has ever touched him. His feathers lift and puff when you press your lips to it, and his breath catches in a quiet moan.

You see the tips of his ears turn red as he twists to look over his shoulder at you. The movement shifts his torso just enough for you to reach under and splay your hand over his belly, and his blush spreads down across his whole face.

You grin and hook your chin over the edge of his wing, enjoying the sight. “Ready to roll over and try this again?”

He starts to go tense again, expression blanking, and no, that’s not what you wanted--that’s the exact _opposite_ of what you wanted! You lean in and kiss him before he can really work himself up. “Shh, no,” you say. “None of that, now, not after I just got you friggin relaxed!”

Dirk’s eyes close, and he takes a couple of breaths. You nuzzle your cheek against his shoulder and watch his face as it smooths out again. He sounds mostly calm again when he says, “Hate to say it, but if you want me on my back, it’s just not going to happen.” He flexes his wings for emphasis.

Oh, right. Well, still! There’s more than one way to skin a cat, as they say. You press another kiss to his lips and beam. “That’s fine! You just stay right there, then, and I’ll have us right as rain in no time.” The uncertainty hasn’t really faded from his expression, so you lay over him. You rescue your hand as he flattens under you and rest your elbows on either side of his head, boxing him in.

Dirk’s head is still resting on his crossed arms, and his ember eyes peer sideways at you as you hover over him. “Somehow, I get the feeling this is meant to be more of a team effort,” he comments, twitching his wings in. The feathers brush against your sides, right on the edge of ticklish, and you press him down into the bed a little more firmly.

“Couldn’t do it without you,” you agree and bring your lips together. It’s an awkward angle, but Dirk moves his near arm so that he can wrap his hand around the back of your head and tangle his fingers in your hair. You let your arm slide up to rest on the bed over your heads, and that does it. You drop into the space above his shoulder and capture his mouth properly.

The two of you have shared a few heated kisses up to this point. This one doesn’t ignite as quickly as some of the others did, instead building from a low smoulder. You sink deeper against him as you suck his lip into your mouth, resting your weight on him, and bring your other hand to cup the back of his neck. The light scrape of your fingernails over his nape sends him shivering and squirming to kiss you harder.

When you open your eyes, you see that his are half-lidded. They quickly regain their clarity as you watch, though, and Dirk hesitates, fingers stilling where they’d been rubbing careful circles in your scalp. “Is this…?” he starts to ask.

“Perfect,” you finish, and he blinks, eyes stuttering away from yours. “Relax,” you tell him, bumping your noses together so he’ll look at you. “You’re doing just fine. I’ve got you.”

It takes a minute to get him to lean into the next kiss, but the gentle motion of your thumb just behind his ear and the slow pace you set wears him down. You know you’ve got him back when he sighs, shoulders falling with the loss of tension, and leaves his lips parted in an invitation you’re glad to accept. You lick into his mouth, tracing the edge of his tongue with your own, and groan when he seals his lips against your tongue and sucks. Jiminy cricket, that feels... _really_ fucking amazing, and you feel things get a little more sensitive where your crotch presses against his back.

You want to see what Dirk looks like when you do it to him.

Disentangling enough to draw his tongue into your mouth takes some effort, as Dirk seems more than content to suckle at yours, so you tangle your fingers in his hair and tug. That does the trick, and he moans, mouth falling open. You coax his tongue into your mouth and suck, flicking your tongue against the tip. He makes a desperate noise in response as his wings flutter.

The hand in your hair tightens, claws scratching just short of painful. It sends a shiver of heat down your spine, and you rock your hips down against Dirk, who moans again and strains to get closer. You use the grip on his hair to pull him back and give you space to bite and suck down the line of his jaw to his ear. His voice is breathy as he gasps out curses and whines underneath you, and it fans your arousal into a low blaze. Cripes, he’s so beautiful like this; it’s enough to steal your breath away.

It’s a shame to lose the feeling of his hand in your hair when you lift up a little more, but you decide it’s worth it when you suck at the soft dip just behind his jaw and feel him writhe. “Jake, fuck, please,” he whimpers, and you feel him rocking his hips into the bed below you.

You’re happy to oblige. You kneel back over his thighs and pull his hips up after you, just enough for you to reach under and take him in hand. His breath punches out of him. “Oh, fuck,” he gasps, back hunching and wings fluttering. Keeping your strokes gentle and slow for now, you curl over him and kiss between his wings. He shivers and folds, shoulders dropping to the bed again as he curls his talons into the furs by his head. “Fuck,” he says again, sounding helpless to the sensations.

Those massive wings splay wide, leaving his vulnerable back open and exposed before you. You run your hand up the length of his spine and into his hair, cupping the back of his head. His head rolls with the motion, pressing his forehead into the bed, and you can hear him panting quietly.

“There you go,” you murmur, a little surprised at how low your voice comes out. You drag your hand down to his wing and pet him where his bare skin turns to feathers, matching the pace to your motion on his cock. He rocks into your hands. “Doesn't that feel good?”

“Yes, shit, it's never--” he cuts himself off, shaking his head against the bed, and clenches his hands.

You tighten your grip and kiss the base of his wing when he gasps and arches up against your chest. “Never what?” you ask. You kiss across his back and press your mouth to his other wing, reveling in the play of muscles as he shifts and writhes.

“Never felt like this, _fuck,_ Jake,” he manages, burying his face into the furs. He moans.

For a moment, you're not sure what he means, and then your attention is caught by the flex of his dark, scaled hands as his talons dig into the furs. You hear a very faint _pop_ as they puncture through. Oh. You suppose he _could_ rub one out with those hands, as long as he was careful with the talons, but you can't imagine it being easy to relax and enjoy it when you have to be careful not to accidentally claw yourself in a delicate place. And there are other ways to get off, sure, but this might be the first time he's been able to really appreciate the simple pleasure of a hand around his cock.

If that's not the saddest thing you've heard, wow. You're going to show this man how good his body can feel if it's the last thing you do.

All the possibilities you've idly considered over the last few weeks come roaring in, an inferno of heat that makes your cheeks flush as you look down at Dirk, neatly splayed before you. Boy howdy, you want to try _everything_ with him, but...perhaps it's best to stick with what you know, this first time. And you have to admit that there's something deeply appealing in having him tucked beneath you like this, where you can hold him safe and secure from everything that's hurt him or made him feel less of himself.

“Alrighty then, okay,” you mutter to yourself. Mission accepted. You take a second to fumble one-handed at your shorts until you can push them down your hips, then lean over him again, the feathers on his wings brushing against your chest. Your brace your hand on one of his, pinning it next to his head. Dirk immediately laces your fingers together and turns his head so he can see your joined hands.

This is good; you’ve got him. Dirk’s trembling wings are loosely folded on either side of you, and you’ve got him gently penned in beneath you. You want to burn out all the pain and misery he’s felt over the years and fill him with nothing but pleasure and good feelings; give him a reprieve, even if it’s only for as long as you’ve got him like this. You dip your head and mouth at the base of his wing, gently biting over the feathered mass of muscle and bone, and speed up your strokes.

Dirk jolts under you, wings twitching, and lets out a soft cry. You can’t help rocking your hips in counterpoint to his rhythm, rubbing over the slight curve of his ass. He drops his back a little more, pressing against you in blatant invitation, and his fingers tighten over yours. It is...a _tempting_ invitation, to say the least, but you pass it up for now. Next time, you think.

When you don't make a move to take advantage of the position, he comes out of his haze a bit and peers over his shoulder at you, mouth twisting into a slight frown. “What are you doing? I thought you wanted to fuck me.”

You grin. “I’m more interested in seeing if I can make you scream like this. Think I’ll manage?” You squeeze a little more firmly on your next stroke, and his eyelids flutter.

But then he grimaces, pushing back against you like he’s trying to sit up. You press him back down, and he subsides, looking at you from the corner of his eyes. There’s an audible undercurrent of uncertainty in his voice when he says, “I want to make you feel good.”

“Oh, you are, pretty thing, you are.” You stretch until you can nibble up the line of his throat to his ear. You take his earlobe between your lips and suck, and he squirms back against you harder, mewling. “Don’t fret; just relax and let me take care of you.”

It takes some more coaxing, gentle words and gentle kisses interspersed with little nips and bites to his shoulders and neck, but soon you have him moaning and rocking into your grip again, back and wings flexing in the limited range he’s got. You work your way back down to his wings, licking and sucking at the knobs of his spine in that stretch of skin between them, and press your teeth to the joint of his other wing in a careful bite.

Dirk cries out again, but this time he drags your joined hands closer to him--nearly unseating you in the process--and mouths over the meat of your thumb to muffle himself. His slick tongue rolls over your knuckle as he sucks, a hint of pressure from his teeth framing the side of your hand. You shudder, stroking him faster, and leave a trail of kisses up to his shoulder, where you bite and suck on the sharp tendon there with just enough pressure to leave a mark.

His whole body jerks under you, and Dirk drags your thumb into his mouth on the tail of his moan. With his teeth playing over the sensitive pad, you rest your forehead in the dip between his shoulder blades and try to clear the haze of lust from your mind enough to string words together. “Holy toledo, Dirk, you’re a mighty marvel. Look at you, being so good for me.”

He whines into your hand, wings shuffling restlessly, and you lay a line of kisses up his spine. “It’s true! You’re so gorgeous when you let yourself enjoy things, you know.” You reach the corded tendon in his neck and scrape your teeth over it. Dirk gasps, hips kicking, and you grunt as it rubs him more firmly against your crotch. You’re not as close as he is, but feeling his reactions has got you well on your way. A twist of your wrist has him mewling, and you stretch until you can see the side of his face, scrunched up as you overwhelm him with pleasure.

“That’s right, that’s it,” you croon, watching as he looks up at you through a slitted eye. Another twist on the next stroke, and he gasps wetly, eye squeezing tightly shut as he shudders. His other hand clenches tight over the furs, claws making a few small tears. He’s close, he’s so close, you just need to get him to stop _fighting it--_ You press your lips to his straining shoulder, not letting up on the pace. “Relax, let it take you. I’m here; I’ve got you.”

It hits him hard, and you brace yourself up again to give him space for it to tear through him. He hunches over, mouth sliding off your thumb, and shouts into the furs below him. His wings curl forward, the leading edges pressing into the bed, and shake with the rest of him. He gasps as each wave hits him, body tightening, and you stroke him through it.

He collapses when it’s over, shivering faintly, and you run a soothing hand over his back before kicking your shorts off and turning your attention to your own erection. Fucking hell and all its bells, watching him let you take him over the edge like that was something else. With everything fresh in your mind, it doesn’t take you long at all.

Dirk is still lying limp when you finish coming down. You brush your fingers through his wings, resettling the handful of feathers that got mussed in all the exertion, and nudge his hip when he still doesn’t move. “You alright there, amigo?” you ask, only mostly teasing.

“I think you broke me,” he mumbles, muffled by the furs.

You snort and run a hand over the outer curve of his wing, lifting it slightly so that you can crawl underneath and lie next to him on the bed. “Budge up a bit, would you?” you ask, rolling onto your back so that your arms press together.

Dirk does you one better. He shifts to the side a bit so that you can scoot all the way onto the bed, then moves back so that he’s draped over you, face nestled against the base of your throat. You giggle, still a little bit high on how _good_ that felt, and thread your fingers through his hair. One of his arms goes around your waist and clutches you close, and his wing covers you down to your knees.

Then you feel something wet against your throat, and your smile drops immediately. Is he...crying? His breaths are still slow and steady--too steady, you suddenly realize. They’re steady and _controlled_ , like Dirk is forcing his reactions to stay hidden. “Dirk?” you ask, and you can hear the concern in your own voice.

He doesn’t say anything, but the arm around you tightens, and you can feel the tips of his talons just starting to prick your skin. Dirk’s shoulders tremble and his breath hitches, but he keeps his face pressed firmly to your chest.

“Dirk?” you ask again, alarmed. You crane your neck to try to see his face, but it’s hidden from you at this angle. He presses his weight against you to keep you pinned when you try to lever yourself up on an elbow, and he shakes his head against you. Uncertain, you stay where you are and card your fingers through his hair. His next inhale wheezes a little bit as he sucks in air, and his controlled breathing collapses into unsteady gasps now that you’ve seen past it, but he’s still unnervingly quiet and still as his tears spill down your neck.

You just hold him close and let him cry, running your fingers through his hair and the feathers you can reach. Eventually his tears stop, and his shoulders finally relax. You keep up your steady soothing motions, waiting. “Sorry,” he rasps after a few more minutes of silence. “That was, uh. Sorry.” You can feel his throat bob as he swallows.

“You gave me quite the scare, there, buckaroo,” you tell him quietly. He cringes, and you shush him, tracing your fingers out of his hair and down his cheeks. His face is warm. “What happened?”

“...dunno. It was just...a lot,” he says. You nod and stretch to press a kiss to the top of his head, and the two of you fall back into silence. Despite your concern, you’re starting to feel drowsy, and his heavy warmth isn’t helping you to stay awake. You think he might be drifting off, too.

You’re most of the way to sleep when he speaks again. “I never thought I could have this,” he whispers. “I never thought I _should._ ”

Your heart aches for this man who was seemingly never shown a scrap of kindness, who was betrayed at every turn, who took all that heartbreak and turned it inward, sure that there was something wrong about him that could explain it. You pull him tighter against you.

You’re not sure how to tell him that he deserves nothing but love and kindness, that he was taken advantage of and hurt in the worst ways. You don’t know how to tell him that it makes you _furious_ to think about him huddling alone in the forest outside of Derse, clutching that damned jar in his new claws, sobbing silently while angry mobs hunted him down to punish him for the gods’ trickery. You’re not sure how to tell him that you would do anything to take that pain away from him and to prevent him from ever feeling it again, that you want to free him from this lonely existence he’s carved out for himself at the edge of human cruelty.

“I love you,” you tell him instead and hope he understands.

He sighs and melts against you, feathers rustling, and a few minutes later you’re both asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *blissed out purring*


End file.
